Riding the Night Train
by squeekness
Summary: Book two of my Children of the Gods series. Gambit and his kidnapped Red Team go for a little ride.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Book two of my Children of the Gods series. Gambit and his kidnapped Red Team go for a little ride.

Rated M for language and some minor sexual content.

Disclaimer : I do not own the X-men or any of their associated villains, but all of the Siskans, the members of the Red Team besides Kyle, any of the characters that are involved with the Twilight dimension are mine. Please do not use them without my permission. Thanks. :)

This is an illustrated work and the art is or will be available soon on my website which you can get to by clicking on my profile. This book will have four chapters, a new one each week if all goes well. The updates to this and the rest of the series will come faster as I get the polishing work on the last book completed. Hopefully finally starting to get the finished parts posted will help speed me up.

(One)

Somewhere deep in the bowels of the underground Xavier Complex an alarm was shrieking. The designers had deliberately planned for it to be abusive to the ears so that it wouldn't be easily ignored or overlooked and they had done their job well. The primary members of the Gold Team had all volunteered to have this howling nightmare intrude into their lives should anything disastrous happen so there was no room for credible complaint even as it jolted several of them rudely awake.

One of them had only been asleep for just a couple of hours. Rogue had only just returned from a mission, thinking that a few hours rest would be her reward. No such luck. She bolted awake with a scream nearly as loud as the alarm itself. "Aw fer cryin' out loud!" she protested in her Mississippi drawl.

"What the fuck?" came a similar complaint from her companion. She hadn't been sleeping alone. "Yous only just gots back!"

Rogue reached across to the night stand and slammed her hand down on the alarm, silencing it. She didn't break it even though she would have dearly loved to at that moment, but her contract explicitly stated that it would be replaced regardless of how many times she damaged it so there was no point in it really. The contract she had signed had pretty much been sealed in blood, at least that's what Bobby claimed when he was joking about it and it was partly true. Once you went Gold Team, you went for life. Most of the time it was great. After only an hour or so of sleep, eh, not so much.

She sat up anyhow, moving in very slow motion. It was times like these that she began to feel the evidence of her career path. She wasn't as young as she used to be, she was creeping up on forty - oh my! – and her body wasn't coping with the abuse of a hard workout and no sleep as well as it used to.

A slender ebony hand reached out and took her wrist. "Ignores it, Mistress. If you cain't sleeps nohow, I gots a real fine cure fer that..."

She smiled and looked back at the one who had temporarily ensnared her. "Sorry, Simone. But my people need me."

"I needs you mores," he insisted playfully, blinking his silver eyes up at her seductively, praying that looking cute might actually work this time. It hadn't worked in the past but a guy could always hope. His own lazy drawl wasn't the same as hers but it was the exact match to Kimble's. Of course it would be, he was Siskan as well as being Kimble's clutchmate.

Although the Siskans who lived here at the Complex were all related in this way, their appearances sometimes varied wildly from one another. Simone, like Kimble, had a blended skin and could never pass for a normal human. Where Kimble's skin was a deathly pale white, Simone's was as black as black could get except for a single band of white that crossed his eyes, like a bandit in reverse. He had wings too, only his were feathered and shimmered with hidden colors, making him a dark angel lovely to behold. His voice carried Kimble's distinct accent, but it had a cracked and worn quality to it, like someone who had been shouting all day. He had none of Kimble's telekinetic talent, but that didn't matter to his precious Mistress. The one thing that made him the most important person in her world was his ability to touch her bare skin for as long as he pleased and not die for his trouble.

See, Rogue was a mutant and like her team mates had many different powers, but hers all had one primary source – her ability to touch other people and temporarily absorb their memories and identity - or in the case of other mutants, she could borrow their powers for a short time. It was harmful to those she touched, even to the point of death should she hold on for too long. Her trouble lay in the fact that she couldn't control it. She touched you and she took you, it was really that simple. One such encounter lasted a bit too long and she had actually permanently stolen that person's powers for good, enabling Rogue to fly, have enhanced strength, and making her for the most part invulnerable. It was great that she had these new powers and all but they had come with a price - the constant guilt that she had nearly killed the person she had stolen them from and had left them powerless forever.

Knowing this, Rogue could have no physical contact with anyone, no matter how slight, without causing harm to the other person. She was forced to be fully covered from her feet to her neck in the off chance that she might accidently touch someone, however fleeting, and hurt them. It had made her life miserable from the moment her mutant powers had manifested themselves.

The fact that Simone was a Siskan Courtesan that had been manufactured and not born from an organic source meant that she could have full bodied contact with him and he would suffer no harm from it whatsoever. It had been what had brought him to her attention and the fact that the attraction had been mutual had made their becoming a couple all too easy. They had been living together for months now and so far it had been working out well for both of them.

"Let me at least see what it is, Sugah," Rogue offered in order to comfort him. She was exhausted and it wouldn't take much to convince her that her time was better spent with the man who loved her.

" 'Kay," he agreed and released her, letting her use the phone without further protest.

Scott Summers, the Gold Team leader, answered her on the first ring. "Scott here."

"Hey, it's Rogue. What's the alarm all about?"

"We don't know for sure. It was an automated distress call from Gryfon's key alarm. The Red Team is in trouble but we don't know any details other than Logan may be involved. They were sent out for a simple exercise that he had initiated, but it's not like Warren to activate a signal without good reason so I am taking it seriously."

Rogue sighed. The Red Team. Remy's team. "Ah'll meet you topside in five minutes. Don't leave without me."

"You can pass on this if you want," Scott offered. "I know you just got back in. You must be tired."

"Ah'll be there," she promised and hung up.

Rogue rose from the bed without another word and hastily started getting dressed. She reached for her pants and felt them come into her hand before she realized it. Simone had risen with her and was now helping her, knowing what she needed before she even had to ask for it. She took the pants from him and dressed quickly, her mind racing about what might have happened.

She never saw the look of quiet disappointment on Simone's face, nor the low droop of his wings. He had heard Scott's voice clearly from over the phone and as soon as he had heard the words, "Red Team", he knew that she would go even before the words left the mouth of his precious Mistress.

Simone was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He could read the shines as the other Siskans could and had known for a long time that his Mistress still had strong feelings for Remy, her former boyfriend. Simone didn't fear that she might leave him for this other man because he still had the one thing Remy didn't - the ability to touch and make love to her without either of them coming to harm. But that didn't mean that her lingering feelings for her former boyfriend still didn't hurt. He wouldn't complain though, it wasn't his way. It wasn't the Siskan way. He was grateful beyond measure that he had been chosen by her and that he was now hers and hers alone. She was his Mistress and he would serve her always in all things. It was enough for him. For now.

Rogue was oblivious to the inner woe of her companion. She hadn't been a Mistress long and well, Simone had folded himself so neatly into her life that she had fallen into a sort of routine with him. She knew that he was always sad when she left, that he was concerned for her when she was on missions, so for her his quiet simply meant that he was worried for her the same as any wife of a policeman or firefighter would have been. She didn't know that his feelings ran deeper than that, that he knew her hurry wasn't for this mission, but because Remy was involved.

Once she was dressed, Rogue brushed a hand through her long brown hair, smoothing it and her distinctive white bangs back into place. She looked about as good as she was going to get after so little sleep. It was time to go.

"Ah'll be back soon," she promised Simone, giving him a quick kiss.

"I knows," he replied, automatically placing her Away Pack in her hand like the dutiful creature he was. "An' I'll be waitin'."

Not content to have just the last word, he returned her kiss, but unlike her hurried peck of everyday concern, he deepened his, making the kiss burn hard enough on her lips that she even swooned a bit at the knees. Being a Siskan Courtesan of the highest quality, he did this very well and with the greatest of ease.

"Oh, my..." she gasped, her attention fully on him for the first time since she had awakened, which was the point of it of course. Simone wanted to remind her of who she was leaving behind, not of whom she was rushing off to to save. "Guess Ah'll have to make this fast..."

He grinned now, pleased with his work. "I certainly hopes so."

Rogue shouldered the pack he had given her and walked out the door. She did reward him with an affectionate backward glance for his trouble and then she was gone.

Now alone, Simone sighed and began to pick up the apartment. Like Kimble, Simone had become a master of domestic orderliness, something of a challenge with his Mistress. Rogue was a bit of a disaster when it came to her place, clothing had flown off of her as she had returned - her jacket carelessly tossed over the arm of the couch, dirty socks left balled up on the floor, a used towel left on the bathroom floor after her shower - and Simone had ignored it then, wanting only to devote himself to her now that she had come home. But once he was left behind again, he went right back to his solitary life, that of housekeeper.

Simone didn't like other people much, his Mistress was the only one he could really stand for long. His experience with the organic wasn't much beyond an abusive former Master who had savagely beaten him to drive him insane - the man had wanted an angry watchdog to frighten away anyone who might trespass on his property and he had succeeded in that – but later, when Simone had changed hands as Siskans invariably do, he had been so violent that his new Masters had then kept him locked away in isolation for years. He had been a feral mess and a virgin when Rogue had come into his life. Her love had coaxed him out of his shell and given him this new life he now had. She had saved him in every way possible. While the rest of the humans here treated him much better than that former Master, Simone found them all loud and annoying. Their shines were painful and bright and he couldn't stand to look at them. He had spent so much time locked away that he still very much preferred his solitary life here with his Mistress.

Simone earned his keep the Siskan way - he kept his Mistress's apartment neat, cooked her meals as she had showed him she liked, and of course, did his best to please her in any way she might ask or need. It wasn't really slavery though it might seem that way to an outsider. To him his Mistress was everything and the most beautiful woman he had ever known. Serving her was life, was his salvation, and his very reason for living. No complaint would ever leave his lips, he had none. He wanted for nothing. She paid attention to him when she was home, something he drank up like wine. Making love to her was something from a dream, an intense pleasure he had no words to describe.

When Simone did leave the apartment it was always with her and most often to the Solarium where they would exercise in the green grass and bright sun. It was heaven to him and he wouldn't give it up for anything.

He did not spend much time with his Siskan kin, he didn't understand them or how some of them chose to live. He couldn't comprehend how Kimble and Aiden could be happy with each other and not with flesh and blood owners. How could they find true happiness without the heat and thunder of that precious heartbeat in their ears? And Asher? He was the biggest mystery of all. Here was a Siskan who was supposedly Remy's property - a man who never used him for anything – but who was also fully devoted to a second Master you couldn't even see or touch, this strange being called God. How was THAT even satisfactory? Now that Simone was owned and being used properly, the idea of celibacy was nothing but a horror. No lovely kisses, no tight embraces? He would rather be dead.

No, this life he had now was the best he had ever had and he would die to keep it. Once a Siskan was bonded in this way to a Master or Mistress it often took the death of the owner to sever that tie. It was in the files, you see, the ones all Siskans shared. He might once have been neglected and feral, but now that he was properly owned and being used for what he was made for, those pre-loaded files came into play. It was these same files that made Kimble and Aiden so devoted to one another and Asher to his mysterious God, though Simone did not understand these things.

Simone moved to the kitchen and began to prepare a meal - a tasty beef stew that he knew she would like. It was one that didn't take long to cook – he was hoping for her speedy return – but it was also one that would keep, in case she did not. It didn't matter, it would be ready for her no matter when she came home, just as he would be.

**(break)**

Once out of her apartment and into the hallway Rogue quickly covered the distance to the stairway that would lead her topside and out to where the Lucky Dragon was parked.

She hadn't gone more than two steps up the stairs when she heard the door she had just gone through slam open behind her. She turned and smiled when she saw Bobby Drake come huffing and puffing up the stairs, trying to catch up to her. "I gotta train more or get an apartment closer to the tarmac, geez!" he complained merrily even though he was breezing up the steps like it was nothing. "This is ridiculous!"

Bobby was one of the youngest members of the Gold Team and something of a jokester. He was a lot like Grace and did a good job of keeping things light even when things weren't going so well. That didn't mean he wasn't a good man in a storm, he was dependable and one of the bravest people Rogue had ever known. He was lithe and blonde with sparkling blue eyes, almost too good looking for this line of work. His mutation was a simple one but quite effective - he could manufacture frost and ice from thin air, conjuring enough of the stuff to make ice sleds for quick travel or even create shields strong enough to protect his body as effectively as any of Remy's famous body armor.

He was certainly better rested than Rogue was and in spite of being a tad winded, still stomped up the stairs quickly enough to beat her to the topside door. He held it open for her, ever the gentleman, but was still a punk enough to tease, "Heard your ex got himself in a bit of a pickle. First time his team went out for real. D'oh!" he joked, adding his best Homer Simpson impression there on the end.

"Ain't my fault the boy cain't handle anything without me," she returned playfully. "Some folks just don't ever learn."

The Lucky Dragon was parked close by and it was a short walk to the now open hatch. The Lucky Dragon was a spacecraft significantly larger than the Dragon 2. It was the ship that Seth had kept in mind when he had designed the Dragon 2 on its much smaller scale. The Lucky Dragon was sleek and lovely, a sparkling silver crescent twinkling in the early morning sun, yet it was more than just good looking. With its two levels of interior space, it was capable of moving much larger cargo and many more passengers than anything else the X-men had at their disposal. It could also fly into deep space if needs be, a welcome asset.

Bobby and Rogue entered the ship and made their way into the large first floor Main Room. This area was quite roomy, having a double row of passenger seats that faced a large, movie theater sized viewing screen that could be made to show many views of the craft, both inside and out. There they found Fallen, the captain of this strange and wonderful craft.

Fallen had been getting ready for their take off. Like the Dragon 2, this ship was commanded by users on pilot sticks though Fallen's were much more upright, looking almost like pogo sticks that ran from the floor to the ceiling. Her sticks had been modified from their original design - a comfortable seat had been added so she could sit if she liked instead of standing the whole time. Fallen was currently perched on the seat, relaxed and comfortable. She had been doing this a great many years and flying for her was as natural as breathing.

Kimble's blended skin was unique looking on this world, but for all its beauty, it was nothing but a fake. Fallen was the real deal, the only flesh and blood pilot here, and had the powers to prove it. Unlike Remy and Kimble who had to work together to fly the Dragon 2, Fallen could manage the Lucky Dragon all on her own. She was a tiny thing, her white skinned, bat winged body standing no more than just an inch or so over five feet tall, but she was one of the most powerful telekinetics the X-men had in their employ. She was also an energy producer of the finest quality, a living battery that powered this ship better than any fossil based or nuclear fuel.

The X-men had crossed paths with Fallen on an off world mission many years ago and had brought both her and her Siskans back home with them, adding them all to their already diverse team of powerful people. Fallen had fit in quite well and since she wasn't assigned to any particular team, was sent out on many missions and had served the X-men faithfully in all that time.

Seth was present in the Main Room as well, though not actually in person. He was up on the large viewing screen, giving Fallen an assist on their take off from his position down below in the Complex. Seth was a valuable member of the staff, but he never went out on field missions, he was much too frail and vulnerable. Other than being able to see the shines, he shared none of Kimble's more prized powers or fighting skills and this weakness would put him too much at risk.

Seth was Kimble's twin though they didn't look exactly alike. They had the same white skin and pilot's bodies, but Seth's waist long hair was as sparkling white as Fallen's own. Seth and Fallen could have passed as brother and sister to the eyes of someone who didn't know them well, but they were not. They were husband and wife instead. Of all the Siskans here, Seth and Fallen had been as Mistress and Courtesan the longest of any other such pairing the X-men had. It had prompted them to actually officially marry and they were something of an inspiration to Aiden who had seen the benefits of the ceremony for creating stability. Kimble needed few things more than stability and so Aiden had seen that he had gotten it.

Seth might not have actually been on the ship but he was doing his share to help out. He was the Complex's resident hacker and was always on the ready for anything they might need that was computer or intelligence related. At the moment he was giving Fallen the exact coordinates to where Gryfon's distress signal had gone off.

Seth was also giving her helpful advice. "The triage we set up on Lucky's lower level is now fully stocked if you need it." His voice was trembling at bit as he offered this, betraying his fear that any of them, his precious Mistress especially, might get injured. Fallen was strong and powerful in her ways, but she was still mortal.

"We'll be fine," she reassured him with a gentle smile. Her eyes were filled with nothing but love for him, warmed by his concern. He had been like this the whole time she had known him so she was well used to it. It was part of what had endeared him to her. It was nice to be so cared for.

Seth was grateful for the smile, even if it did little to allay his fears. He was much too insecure to be so easily soothed. "Well, if you get lost, just follow the beacon on the Dragon 2. It'll give you the exact location of the cabin."

"Will do."

Fallen turned her head when she heard some noise - two more members of the Gold Team had arrived. Scott Summers, the team's leader, walked in with his lovely wife, Jean. Scott was the highest ranking X-men in the Complex that was still active in the field and Second in Command at the Complex. Only Professor Xavier had more authority. Scott was an energy producer like Remy, but instead of releasing that energy into an object and charging it, he released that energy through beams that came out of his eyes. Scott had the same misfortune as Rogue, there was no on/off switch for those beams so he was forced to wear a visor over his eyes that contained the power within. The visor had been modified to allow him to vary the force of those beams if he wished, or he could simply remove it and blow half the building away. Needless to say, he was never without that visor, ever. This particular problem had taught him responsibility and self control, characteristics that had helped to earn him the lofty position he now held today.

Jean, his wife, was a lovely redhead but she was more than good looks. She was both a powerful telepath and a telekinetic as well. It was a handy combination to have in one person and she served the Gold Team well. It might not seem like it, with the few X-men and Siskans that have been described thus far, that telekinesis was a popular skill or mutation to have, but that simply wasn't the case. It was just that the X-men had been blessed enough to have snagged the lion's share of those talented folks to add to their mission of peace.

Scott nodded at Fallen in greeting and he turned to Rogue and Bobby to say, "You guys got here quick. Good. We'll be leaving right away."

Bobby looked over Scott's shoulder to the still open hatchway. "Anybody else coming?"

"Hank's on his way up."

Bobby arched a blonde eyebrow at that. Hank was the Complex's chief physician. "Do you expect any casualties?"

Scott shrugged. "We don't know. The distress call was automated so we don't have any details. Better safe than sorry."

Speak of the devil, Hank came up the ramp and into the room even as they were speaking about him. He was carrying a couple of good sized black bags of first aid equipment in one hand and his Away Pack in the other. Of this particular group Hank looked the least human of them all, including Fallen. He was covered in shocking ultramarine blue fur from head to toe, his face molded into that of a lion man. His black hair was shaggy about his ears and neck, a mane any real lion would envy.

He hadn't always looked this way. Twice now, through potions and poisoning he had altered his appearance. He had been born a normal looking boy with exceptional smarts and agility. In a bid to increase his intelligence, he had created a potion that would supposedly perform this miracle. Instead he accidently forced a secondary mutation that sprouted all that lovely blue fur and gave him the face of a troll. It had been a humbling experience and one he had vowed never to repeat. He had kept that promise as far as not voluntarily altering himself, but a mishap with a poison called Honey had caused a third level mutation he had barely survived.

He had made it through the poisoning alive because of a Siskan. Siskans wanted to be owned and for the most part, they were selected by users who then became their Masters or Mistresses. Star, a Siskan whose Master had been recently killed, had bypassed all that. One look at Hank and it was all over for the big blue guy. She had pursued him relentlessly, wearing down years of reserve that he had painstakingly constructed to protect himself. Who could ever love a man who looked like a big blue troll? Well Star certainly could and did. Hank fortunately relented to her powerful desire and had found the love of his life. Just his luck she was a healer as well. They had just become a couple when Hank was poisoned.

Star's loving attention and ability to help others heal from their injuries had saved Hank's life. Of course her healing sessions weren't orthodox, a high level of personal intimacy was required. For this reason she was kept exclusive and was Hank's alone.

Warren had watched Hank's recovery with great interest. When he had seen Hank recover for the most part intact, a blue lion man with most of his sanity still in place, he had stolen Star for himself and recklessly downed a vial of Honey himself, waiting to see what would happen. It had been disastrous, but Warren had survived, barely, and was now Gryfon. Star had been ill used during all this, forced to perform Warren's healing against her will, and was now kept mostly under Hank's ever watchful eye. He wouldn't see her abused again for any man's ambition. They had actually married just a few short weeks ago, cementing their relationship in every way that counted.

Asher, Seth, and Star were prime examples of just how integrated the Siskans had become into the lives of the X-men. Logan feared this or was at least made uneasy by it, but many of the others were grateful for it, for those Siskans who had made themselves useful at least. There was one remaining Siskan still under permanent lock and key in the jail with no release plans in sight, but one out of seven wasn't bad.

Fallen's current passengers took their seats and moments later they were on their way. It was a short flight and by the time they had made it to Maine, only twenty minutes had passed from when they had first received Gryfon's distress signal, a credit to all the first response drills they ran on a regular basis.

Fallen didn't immediately land, Lucky was far larger than the Dragon 2 and required a good sized amount of open space for that. She did find the nearby clearing, the only close available spot really, but took a flyby first, the many underside cameras giving them a quick view of the area. The big viewing screen could be divided into quarter sections, giving multiple views of what was going on outside. They had good visibility, they just didn't like what they were seeing.

"Is that blood?" Scott asked no one in particular, unbuckling his seatbelt and moving closer to the big screen for a better look. He had spotted irregular dark splotches on the otherwise unblemished snow below them.

"It could be, but we won't know for certain until we go outside and see," Fallen replied, uneasy for the first time since they had left. This wasn't her first time answering a distress call, but it was the first time that blood had been sighted this quickly.

"Fallen, if you would land, please," Scott ordered. "Just be careful not to get too close to whatever that is. It might be important."

"Aye."

Fallen's skill was uncomparable and she landed the large craft as neat as you please, to the left of where all that darkness lay splattered about on the snow. Hank and Scott were already at the hatch before it opened and were the first ones out. "Careful," Scott cautioned though he had no need to for this well trained team. "Who knows what we'll find."

Scott had good reason to be afraid. Yes, this supposedly had started out as some kind of training exercise, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt that he had forced Remy to take Gryfon along. Gryfon was half mad, it wasn't that much of a secret. Could this had been Gryfon's fault? A result of his not being able to handle it out here in the field? It might not have been an accident that it was Gryfon's automated alarm that had gone off. Scott, being cautious and wise, kept these thoughts to himself – for now. No sense getting ahead of himself when they still had no idea what had transpired here.

They departed and spread out, each one mindful of the woods that still surrounded them. The trees were bare of leaves but that didn't mean there weren't any places to hide. The ground was much more disturbed than what they had first thought, there were a lot of tracks in the snow, all various sizes and going in all different directions.

_Where was Logan when you need him? _Scott internally complained. Logan was their best tracker.

"Holy shit!" Bobby cried out from beside him, his voice breaking as he added, "I – I think this is someone's brains..."

As Scott turned to look he saw Bobby pick up what looked like the shredded remains of a black parka vest, one with pink striping. "Don't get too worried," Scott advised, trying to swallow down his own rising gorge. "The only one I saw with a vest was Kyle. He's a healer."

"How many brains can a guy afford to lose and still come back from it?" Bobby tried to joke, but where he was usually quite capable, he couldn't hide his anxiety. This was just too gross.

"Saw Sabretooth lose half a head once," Rogue reminisced, coming over for a closer look. She was describing one of the X-men's most vicious enemies, one who was a healer just as powerful as Kyle. "He came back from like that like it never happened."

"How could you tell?" Bobby joked again more easily, regaining his stride. "Not like that guy had the highest IQ to begin with."

"Too true," she laughed in agreement, happier to keep things at least a little bit light.

"Keep moving," Scott interrupted. "We have a lot of ground to cover."

"This is a lot of blood..." Bobby reiterated even as he obeyed. There was blood with the brains on the tree, blood on the ground, blood practically hanging in the air. His stomach clenched and he swallowed again, not wanting to be the first one to heave. He saw something shining in the bloodied snow and picked it up. "Hey, guys. This looks like a bullet slug."

Scott looked at it and nodded. "This just went from bad to worse."

"Kyle can take ten of those and keep walking," came Hank's calm, doctorly reply. "As for the others, Remy took TrueBlood with him. Just as well he did. He might have come in handy."

"Scott!" came Jean's sharp cry. "I've found Warren!"

They all turned in her direction and saw what looked like a bloody ruin on the ground.

**(break)**

Gryfon lay crumpled and broken in the snow, his mind not entirely there. Not that he had been all that sane since the Honey poisoning, but that was beside the point. He had been fading in and out, the pleasant black of unconsciousness washing over him with its comforting sense of relief and then falling away to a white of horrible wakefulness like some obscene, maliciously teasing tide with no mercy. He was on his side now, his limbs all askew in the crusty white, had been for a while now, and it was starting to feel good, not at all bad or life threatening like it should have been. He was hot instead, so very hot. He should be shivering but instead was fighting the urge to simply bury himself down in deeper into the frosty coolness all around him. This was probably a bad sign, but he was really too far gone to care.

It was peaceful here now that it had grown quiet and his mind drifted a bit, recalling happier times when he was a lot less reviled. He had been prettier then and had gone skiing often in the resorts that weren't all too far from here, actually. It was as beautiful then as it was now, all white and fun. Women had flocked to him in droves and he was the life of the party, never short of friends. He smiled at the memory, not minding the wet slush of melted snow that chilled his teeth. He opened his mouth wider and drank, never feeling it when his eyes closed and an incoming wave darkness claimed him once more.

He startled awake moments later when he heard voices and then the noise of feet crunching towards him through the hardened snow. "Warren! My God, are you okay...?"

Gryfon's eyes blinked at the familiar sound of Jean's voice and came partway open, but that was all the movement he could manage. He was numb all over and well, he pretty much no longer cared. He had called for the Gold Team and now they had come. Good. Maybe this time when the next wave of black came, it would come for the last time.

"Move aside, Jean, if you would? I need to get a closer look," came Hank's voice next. That was reassuring. Hank was the X-men's doctor and he was in good hands now.

Warren was dimly aware of large hands on his shoulders and then his upper body being moved. Light broke through the slim cracks of his eyelids and a headache instantly bloomed there, large and ugly. A gurgle of protest leaked out of his mouth, but he was so terribly helpless. Where was that pleasant darkness when you needed it? _Hello, wave, I'm ready to drown now. Please. _

"Is that writing?" someone else asked. It sounded like Rogue but he couldn't be sure. He did have some vague recall of blood and pain, of letters and numbers left in the snow, of something he had very desperately needed to say, but then that could have been in another life. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

"Write it down if you can make it out," Gryfon heard Scott suggest, but he lost the rest of the conversation as those large hands searched his body and brought alive firebrands of pain in his chest and back. He thrashed or at least willed his body to move but he couldn't be sure if it did or not.

"He's been shot in the lower back with a low caliber weapon," Hank observed, his voice stiff and neutral, the words coming slowly and with great care. Speaking had become harder for him than it once was, his face and mouth had been changed with the secondary mutation he had just gone through, but he was working very hard on his articulation. Still all that practice couldn't hide the fact that his tone was the one he used when he was trying not to alarm anyone when the news was bad. "There's no exit wound. The entry hole isn't very deep but the slug will need to be removed. He's got some odd injures on his legs – they look like they've been punctured repeatedly but I couldn't hope to tell you by what. No arteries have been severed but he's still lost a lot of blood."

"Punctured?" Scott questioned warily. "You don't think Logan did that do you?"

Hank shook his head. "While the injuries appear in threes like Logan's claws, the formation is different. I couldn't tell you what this was."

"All right then, but we don't have the time to dig the slug out now," Scott answered. "Just pack his injuries and get him stable so we can try to locate Remy and his team. They might be as bad or worse off than he is now. Plus we don't know that this area is even secure. We have to move."

"W..E..B.. 3.. 5.. 7," Rogue was reciting in the background. She wasn't being very doctorly at all, her voice was trembly with concern. "F.. 1.. 5..0. What the heck does that all mean?"

Gryfon groaned again, the sound of her reading reminding him what he had written and why. Before he had gotten too far gone, he had clawed his arm, using the blood to write in the snow. It was the license plate of the truck the abductor had been driving. The one who was responsible for all this. Sadly, it was looking like his message wasn't as clear as it could have been.

"Are you sure that's not F150?" came another voice. "Look at these tire tracks. They could have come from a large truck."

_Good Ole Bobby Drake_, Gryfon was thinking now in relief. Iceman was something of a clown, but he wasn't nearly as stupid as folks thought he was.

"We have to get Warren out of here," Hank interrupted. "He should be suffering from hyperthermia right now and yet he's quite feverish instead. Something's not right."

There was a pause as Scott decided then he spoke, "Fallen, you've got the medical equipment and supplies for this on the Dragon?"

"You know I do," came her quick and easy reply. "Hank and Maylee set up a small triage in the lower level for emergencies."

_Of course Fallen was here_, Gryfon thought. It had taken him momentarily by surprise but then he recalled that unlike Remy's Dragon 2, Fallen's own craft, the Lucky Dragon was faster, much larger, and unattached to any particular squad. She flew whoever needed her most. She wasn't well trained in hand to hand combat but she was a powerful telekinetic which had its pluses.

"Then we'll treat Warren in flight. Have Seth run those numbers through the DMV while we get him loaded," Scott ordered and Gryfon heard Fallen's affirmative reply.

Gryfon groaned in protest as something hard was set against his back and then fought a wave of nausea as he was gently rolled backwards onto it. The battle was short lived and he heaved up his breakfast just as he was lifted up off the ground. Rogue gave a cry of complaint and Gryfon felt his center of gravity shift as whatever he had been placed upon teetered badly to one side.

"Nice catch, Rogue," Bobby couldn't help but laugh. "Aren't you happy now you came back from that mission early?"

"Shut it, Bobby," Scott grumbled, but his voice wasn't that sharp. They all knew that it was his way of coping with high stress situations. And this was a high stress situation if ever there was one. Logan was missing, brains on a tree, Remy's team was abducted, and Gryfon was badly injured. It didn't get much worse that this. Well, not if you count alien invasions or the planet being split in half by a mutant having a meltdown, but who was counting?

"You are so not my favorite person right now," Gryfon heard Rogue playfully grumble into his ear and couldn't help but smile just a bit.

He had been getting that a lot lately, ever since the change. He knew he made them all uncomfortable, that he frightened them all. Heck, he even frightened himself these days with the stray ugly dark thoughts that rambled through his head these days. Remy's complaints against his wandering eyes had been perfectly justified.

Gryfon had no more vomiting as he was righted and carried the rest of the way into Fallen's ship. He was relieved to be finally inside, it was darker here and easier on his poor tortured eyes. It was only a matter of minutes before he felt himself taken down some stairs and then settled down on something more sturdy than the folding stretcher they had carried him in on. Immediately he felt the low rumble in his stomach as the Lucky Dragon's powerful engines came to life followed by the slight lift as the ship took off. He gagged and retched again, his stomach wanting no part of that.

"Easy, now," Hank soothed and pressed a cold cloth to his aching forehead. It was a relief and he let the doctor continue as he pleased without protest. Gryfon felt Hank cleaning up the mess he had made, so very patient and uncomplaining as always.

Gryfon closed his eyes and relaxed, swallowing some as he tried to settle his churning stomach. He knew that darkness was going to come, those trusty waves of relief, yet he just couldn't help but think it was taking too long. He felt the prick of a heavy gauge needle and knew that Hank was setting up an IV. He was happy for it. Drugs would soon follow, the kind that would be most pleasant. Who needs waves when we have morphine?

Other voices came to him, he could hear Scott and Fallen talking some back and forth and he understood that Hank had turned on one of Fallen's many viewing screens that were mounted on the ship's walls, this one was connected to the upper deck so Hank could keep track of what was going on up there as he worked on his patient down below.

"Seth has three trucks with that plate number if you can believe it," Fallen was reporting. "A black one from Massachusetts, a green one from Texas and a white one from New Jersey. All were reported stolen over the past three days."

"Is that a joke?" Scott was complaining. "That makes no sense."

"I don't make the news, boss, I only report it," she joked in reply trying to keep things as light as possible. It was just too tense up there.

Gryfon grunted, seeing Fallen's face in his mind as he teetered on the brink of passing out. He didn't know her that well, he had been an administrator for many years before this recent change in his status and she mostly did impromptu mission work when no one else was available. They hadn't crossed paths much. She was small and white, having Kimble's body shape but not his size. She had once been human but had been forcibly mutated after Dognan slavers had come to her planet and stolen all the humans away.

The X-men had crossed paths with her on an off world mission and taken her back with them, including the two Siskans she had in her possession, Kimble and Seth. Because she had started with the Siskans, Gryfon often considered her to be Siskan as well by association, even though she wasn't artificially made as they had been.

Of the pair of Siskans, Seth had been more favorably received than Kimble had been, mainly because he was less troublesome and had the best hacker skills than anyone else in the Complex. Seth still belonged to Fallen and looked more like a brother to her than what he actually was - Kimble's twin. Kimble's mental shattering had occurred long before Fallen had found him and being a talented creature, she had done her best to repair him. To do this, she had created a personality fragment from Kimble's scrambled codes and tried to reintegrate them. That hadn't been successful and the result was two separate Siskan Courtesans from the same set of original coding. It was clumsy but it had worked for the most part, though it had occurred to Hank that Seth's existence was the main reason why Kimble's later more professional personality separation repair hadn't stuck. Seth was the glue that Kimble was missing to keep him all together permanently.

Gryfon could care less about any of that of course. Like most of the X-men in high position in the Complex, he had been grateful that Seth was around. The guy had been a steady supplier of desperately needed information. The weasely fellow had even hacked into the supposedly impenetrable SHIELD mainframe, something many had considered impossible. Breaking into the DMV as he was now doing was chump change. However, the guy needed a little bit of help just now, having to decide which of the three vehicles they should be chasing if they managed to catch up with it. Ford trucks were very popular, there were just too many out there.

Gryfon found the energy and the will enough to move. He reached out and weakly grasped Hank's large furry hand. "Wh– white..." he gasped, his voice little more than a rough whisper.

The doctor leaned in close. "What was that?"

"Wh– white... white truck.." Gryfon croaked and then shuddered as the black that had been hovering there for so long finally began to descend. He welcomed it and let go of the doctor, oh so ready for it. It took him and he was gone.

16


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note – sorry this is still being updated only once a week. I am still working on those pesky corrections in my previous posts. I have gotten a lot done. The Kimble series is complete and I am nearly done with The Game. That leaves Twilight and then I should be able to get back to this full time and get the darn thing done. After that I will update this much more frequently.

(Two)

Hank was unconcerned as he saw Gryfon pass out. He had given him some morphine to make him more comfortable so this wasn't unexpected. It was true however, that since Gryfon was no longer physically the same as he had been in the past, it would be hard to say how his altered physiology was going to deal with the standard meds that used to work just fine. So far, it was taking the morphine well and he was no longer suffering.

Hank passed along the information about the white truck that Gryfon had just given him. Scott was grateful for it but it was temporarily lost as Fallen complained about something just as distressing as all this. "I can't find the beacon for the Dragon 2."

"What do you mean?" Scott wanted to know.

"I mean I think the ship is gone." She gestured to the Main Room viewing screen. "There's Logan's cabin. I mean, it must be that one since it's the one closest to this location and fits its description. But there's no Dragon 2."

"Could it be cloaked?"

"Sure, but Lucky would still be able to see it with his scanners. It's the same tech. I'm saying the ship itself is gone."

"Maybe the kids used it to escape," Bobby suggested. He certainly hoped so, he still couldn't get the image of Kyle's poor splattered brains out of his mind.

"They would have contacted us if they had," Scott replied. "We'll have to consider it stolen until we find out otherwise."

Scott knew this was bad. It hadn't really occurred to him until now just what might happen if that alien tech got into the hands of the wrong people. It could possibly be used against them if the thieves were clever enough to figure it out.

"What about the cabin itself? Is there anyone there?"

"We're right above it at the moment," Fallen answered. "Infer red says it's empty."

"Do you think they could mask themselves?"

"Not from these sensors. Lucky's top of the line, better than SHIELD. Nobody's there."

"Forget about it for now," Scott said next, waving a hand dismissively. "Let's focus on what we can do. Is there any way to track that truck?"

"Yes," Fallen replied. "I had Lucky take as good a scan as he could of the tire tracks. As long as it stayed in the snow, we can follow it, or at least get an idea of where it may have gone. I can also leave the tracker for the Dragon 2 on. If they are chasing the same truck or if we get closer to them, we can pick up their beacon."

"Good, let's do that."

Hank turned away at that and returned his full attention to his patient. Tracking down Remy's wayward team would take time and he had plenty to do while the others did that. Just in case, he left the viewing screen on so that he could listen in as they made progress.

Hank had hooked Gryfon up to several monitors and they now indicated that this patient was stable. Gryfon did have a fever that was higher than he liked so he added meds for that as well to the IV. It seemed too soon for an infection but to be prudent, he added an anti-biotic just to keep all of his bases covered. After that, Hank's work was efficient but unhurried. His first task was to remove the bullets from Gryfon's back and flush out the wounds. The bleeding had stopped so this was a good sign.

Hank started by gently rolling Gryfon onto his side, all the better to get a look at the wounds there. He had been careful to make sure that Gryfon's head was turned just in case he vomited again. He didn't want to go through all this just to have his patient choke to death instead.

He dug in and began trying to remove the first slug. It took him much longer than it would have in the past. When Hank's body had been so radically altered during the Honey poisoning, it had also changed his hands enough that a significant amount of his former dexterity had been compromised. With hands that were more paws than fingers, it was taking him a long time to retrain them when it came to delicate things like surgery. Some of his tools had to be modified. Even so, until now he hadn't dared to do anything more complicated than basic life saving patch jobs. Lucky for him the Complex had a regular surgeon who had volunteered to take over from him but it stung.

Because of his setback, Hank had been on the disabled list and not allowed out on most missions. He had been allowed today because there was both the hope that there would be none or limited fighting. His vast amount of medical knowledge had also overridden the need to keep him home. There had been an unspoken agreement that for now at least that if there had been an actual fight out there in the snow, he would be treated as helpless and then protected, restricted to only defending himself and nothing more. He had been going through various therapies and training sessions back home these past months to help him reclaim what he had lost but it was going to take a very long time.

Helping him with that was his precious Star. Beyond being his personal "get well" machine, she was also his primary support system during his recovery. She was very patient and helped him to keep his frustrations in check. Her steady joy and quickness to laugh were essential to his recovery and he had very little to complain about. Plus he was blessed to live with such wonderful loving coworkers and team mates. No one was pressuring him to get back to his former glory on a certain time table besides himself.

A lesser man might have resented the person responsible for the poisoning in the first place, but Hank had let that anger go quite quickly. It had been poor Julien, Remy's estranged son, who had done this thing to him, but at the time, the boy was new to the Complex and a prisoner. He had acted out of fear and in self defense and had been trying to escape those he thought intended to torment him or even kill him. He'd had no idea that the X-men were actually not only on his side, but his family as well. All that had come later. For Hank it was easy to forgive a frightened young boy than if the deed had been done out of malicious mischief.

Hank finally worked the first slug free with little fuss. He squinted at it, trying to get a better look at the twisted bit of metal he was holding in the forceps. It was oddly shaped and didn't look like a normal bullet at all. It was possible he had mangled it on the way out but he didn't think so. His eyes widened as he realized why this bullet, though somewhat mashed, looked as it did. He could now see some markings that were looking familiar and not in a good way.

A few weeks ago, Seth had come into his office. Seth's contact with others was limited and that was just the way he wanted it. He had seen the hardships his more outgoing brother had endured and so kept himself hidden away for the most part in the Complex's labs and computer shops. In spite of this, Seth and Hank had grown quite close though and he was often the first person Seth went to when he might discover something of value.

The shy pale Siskan had handed Hank a slim manilla folder, his face tight with worry. He had come across something while surfing SHIELD's massive mainframe, something he thought might interest the big blue doctor. Seth did this often, and while not all of the information he discovered was immediately useful, it was a habit that Hank was sure to encourage. The folder Seth had given him contained some shocking news – it presented a vague outline and plans for the creation and use of what they were calling "dirty" bullets, ones that did more than merely wound their victims. This was yet another collaboration between Stark Enterprises Weapons Division and SHIELD who was always happy to purchase anything fun and exciting that Tony Stark's company might deliver up. The folder had included a single photo of an intact bullet, one that looked exactly like the one he was now holding. Horrifying to see this actually in use.

"Scott," Hank said aloud now, hoping his team mates weren't too busy up there to have a listen to the more ominous news he was about to give.

"What's up, Hank?" came the team leader's quick reply. He had caught the worry and the fear. "Is Warren okay?"

"He's stable but we may have other problems. I'm going to need you to alert the others back home that we'll be needing the topside quarantine facility up and running for our return."

On the viewing screen, Hank watched as Scott stiffened and turned to look into the upper level viewing screen that connected them both. They were now looking eye to eye. Or they would have been if Scott wasn't wearing his visor. "Why? What's going on?"

Hank held up the slug. "You are now looking at a Stark Tech dirty bullet, one that was loaded with who knows what. Judging by Warren's fever, it is likely to be some kind of flu, but that would be only my best guess."

"Flu?" Scott repeated with real concern. "You don't think it's the Flush, do you?"

"Perhaps, though the Flush isn't fatal to mutants so I don't quite see the point of shooting him with such loaded bullets unless it was to just slow him down. I could run a test for it anyways. It's also possible he was infected with the intention that he might infect others."

"Do it and check for anything else you might be able to find," Scott ordered. "I'll let them know back home to set up that quarantine room for us."

"Thanks."

Scott went back to work on the current problem of finding that truck and Hank left him to it. Hank had a variety of kits on hand and drew blood, getting started. This mini triage was quite well stocked and he had both the lab and the time at the moment to get some of these tests going. Worst case scenario, they could quarantine the entire ship since they were the only ones who had contact with Gryfon after he had been shot – that they knew of anyhow - and so he could finish up these tests here if needs be.

Hank had known about Logan's supposedly top secret mission to eliminate the living source of the Flush. Logan had reported back that the outing had been successful so Hank was distressed at the idea that this test might come back positive. The idea that this terrible virus could be weaponized after all they had done remove it from existence was heartbreaking. The mission Logan had been sent on had been a success in the sense that the source itself had been eliminated, but for some unknown reason it clearly had done some damage to Logan's fragile hold on his sanity. It would be a shame for all that to have gone to waste.

His thoughts were interrupted by some activity upstairs. "There's a train station up ahead," Fallen had just announced.

"Do the truck tracks lead there?" Scott wanted to know. He had risen to his feet, unable to sit still now that they were on to something. He was staring at the view screen, watching all the angles as they flew closer to their target.

"Yes. So far, so good," Fallen replied, "I think I can see a white truck parked over there to the left by those tracks. It's by itself and not in a parking lot which is a bit odd. There's no one else around so we'll have some privacy at least. I can scan the plate and see if it's the one we want."

Scott gestured to the screen. "Is that it there?"

"Yes." Fallen flew their craft closer and hovered over the truck, taking advantage of the zoom feature on one of the outside cameras to get a better look at the rear plate. She had no fear of being observed, the ship was still cloaked even as she worked. The worst that could happen was some poor bird might unwittingly fly into them but that was it. A moment later she nodded and said, "That's our plate all right. Truck looks empty."

Bobby shook his head, confused. "But it's not near the station at all. Why would he park there? Where would he go?"

Scott shrugged. "Maybe he met someone, there's lots of train tracks there. Plenty of workers going in and out I'll bet. Fallen, can you set Lucky down here?"

"No way. There's not enough open space nearby with all these parked trains. Don't sweat it though, we could always just hover here and let the flyers drop down."

"Fair enough."

Fallen positioned the ship as best she could and opened the hatch. Rogue and Jean, the flyers, had already moved to the door and they jumped outside with the ease of long practice. Rogue carried along an evidence kit with a flashlight, testing equipment, and other tools. They didn't possess the full capabilities of a well trained CSI team, but the more senior team members had received some minor investigative training to help them in situations like this. They weren't sure if this truck was the one they were actually after or not, but if it was, they would want to get as much information from it as they could. Not that this case was ever likely to see time in a courtroom, most of their missions seldom did, but there was always the chance that they might have to call in SHIELD or someone with real legal authority if it turned out that whoever grabbed Logan and Remy's team was a real threat to more than just the X-men. If that call had to be made, it was best to be as thorough and prepared as possible to avoid any embarrassment later.

The pair of ladies settled down next to the white truck and took a look around. As Fallen had said earlier the truck did look abandoned and it was true that there was no one nearby. Jean ran a quick mental scan of the surrounding area just to be sure but all she could pick up was a watchman making his rounds just far enough away for them not to be noticed. It was a bit of a reach to expect that she would be lucky enough to locate their target this way anyhow. It was much harder for her to pick out someone she didn't even know from a crowd.

That same powerful telepathic ability however, did make it possible for the two women to be mentally connected to their compatriots aboard the Lucky Dragon, allowing the whole group to be fully aware of what was going on below. They were still acting as a team even though they were separated from each other by metal and twenty feet of air. Input and suggestions could be given back and forth as the girls worked the scene.

Rogue came up to the driver's side of the truck and took a peek inside. "The driver's side window is rolled down or just plain missing," she observed. "Ah'm betting on missing, Ah can see some bits of broken glass on the floor. There's somethin' that looks like blood here on the door, too. Ah'll test it."

"I'll check the truck bed while you do that," Jean offered, walking to the back of the vehicle. The cap was locked but she opened it easily enough with her telekinesis, the best lock pick you could ask for. It was empty but reeked of vomit, forcing her to cover her nose and mouth. "Bed's empty. Smells like someone was sick in it, though."

Meanwhile Rogue had used a swab from her kit to gently dab at the smear and then dropped some tester on it. It came up purple. "It's positive fer blood. Hope it ain't from one of ours."

"Take a sample, please," Hank suggested from inside the ship, using the afore mentioned mental link. He was also able to watch what was going on down below by way of Lucky's cameras. "If it's one of ours then we'll know this is the truck we want. If not then maybe we might get a name off our DNA files." Hank had been putting together a DNA database of all known mutants, or at least the ones that volunteered to be added. It was complimentary to one SHIELD was also building, though theirs hadn't always been compiled with the consent of the donors. It was a private database that Seth had already hacked and added to Hank's. If this blood was known, it might help to at least point them in a direction where they could start looking.

Rogue had moved on from the bloody door to inside the cab. There wasn't much here, just some fast food trash. She did snag the registration for good measure and took a quick snapshot of it using a digital camera she had on hand. She wouldn't take the document itself, for all they knew they were way off base being here. "We could be wasting our time doing this," she couldn't help but add out loud.

"Better safe than sorry," Scott replied to that, taking full responsibility. "Just don't take anything until we know for sure this is our truck."

"VIN Number's been scratched off," Rogue observed. "This must be stolen."

"I know it is," Jean confirmed. She had dared to actually climb inside the semi-fouled truck cab and found not only more blood but she now held up yet another scrap from Aiden's poor shredded parka. It wasn't a big piece, but it had the unmistakable pink pin striping of the young Red Team on it. "This is our guy. No question."

Scott agreed and he said so. He then ordered, "Okay, we've got our confirmation so all bets are off. Rogue, keep that registration and check under the seats for weapons, anything will do. I want the straws from those fast food cups as well, we'll run them for DNA."

"Will do, boss," she confirmed and go to work.

Scott was still issuing orders. "Fallen, ask Seth to see if he can track down what trains have come through on this track. This truck isn't here by accident. He had to have met up with someone here."

"Aye," Fallen answered easily enough. "But it'll probably take a while. This place looks pretty busy. Who knows how many trains came through here just this morning?"

"We'll sort it out, it has to be done."

Fallen nodded and called up Seth. He came up on one of the quarter views on the Main screen and they could see him fast at work, sorting through streams of data at his desk back at the Complex and sending suggestions back to Fallen. It looked professional enough, but this wasn't something that was going to be quick, Hank knew.

That was okay, he had his own work to do. He had no sooner turned away from the monitor and back to his patient when the small tester next to him pinged, bringing him more bad news. Warren's blood culture had just come back positive for the Flush. They were all now likely infected themselves. Their day wasn't improving.

(break)

_Remy was dreaming. He knew it because he recognized where he was. Back before the Arizona Complex had been constructed, the X-men had lived at the large Xavier mansion at Westchester, New York. The property there had been huge and sprawling and as part of the grounds had a three acre flower field in the woods behind the house. At the center of the field was a single large oak tree that held court there, giving its majestic shade to a picnic table that had been a popular place to get away from the hustle and bustle of the house. _

_The field had been a personal favorite place for Remy ever since he'd had the first of these kinds of dreams of being there. That had been long ago, before Molly, before the kids, but he had dreamed of them being there just the same. It was a place of prophecy for him and one that had only held joy for him. All the times he had dreamed of it, the dreams were always of things he had been wishing for and so far, most of them had come true. _

_And now, here he was again. _

_It was early summer as it always was when he dreamed of it, this place had never seen snow in his dreams, probably because it was the thing he hated most in the world and this was a place of perpetual happiness and safety. The sky was clear and blue, not a cloud in sight. The flowers were blooming and fragrant, the buzzing of bees humming close by. Normally, when he dreamed of this place, he would be sitting at the picnic table or sprawled out lazily on a blanket, just taking in the scenery. This time was different. _

_Here he was running gaily through the flowers, one of his favorite songs thumping merrily from a battery powered boom box nearby – Parlez Nous a Boire by L'il Band of Gold, a Cajun drinking song he had enjoyed on many a drunken occasion. It was peppy and merry and adding to the pure enjoyment of the game he was now playing. _

_He wasn't alone here. He was chasing someone, a pretty young girl of about six or seven. She was dressed casually in jeans and a pink T-shirt covered with embroidered flowers that matched the blossoms she was running through, a pair of auburn pigtails streaming out from behind her. He knew by her coloring that she wasn't Sandy, the daughter he had now and he knew something else. She was special in some extraordinary way, he just didn't know what. She was nimble and quick, that was for sure, making him work for it. _

"_Slow down, petite!" he was complaining merrily, growing winded. _

"_Play the game, slowpoke!" she answered back, not slowing down a bit. _

"_What game is dat, jolie?" he questioned, slowing to a walk, his sides heaving. He was laughing though, his heart soaring with joy. Even as he spoke the words, he realized that in this case, jolie hadn't been a nickname. It was her name. Jolie. _

_She dared to come closer to him, playfully taking pity on him. "It's the one where I steal your heart, silly!" she answered, laughing just as hard as he was panting. _

_He snatched at her then, his tiredness merely a ruse, and he scooped her up into his arms, swinging her around to her delight. "Aw, it's much too late for dat, chere."_

_He then brought her up to his face for a kiss and when he looked into her eyes, he saw his own black and red ones smiling playfully back at him._

Remy came awake then with a gasp of surprise. He wasn't fully aware by any means, this was no shocked snapping to, this was like crawling through the deepest darkest black after abruptly realizing that you were suddenly falling and had to catch yourself. Even as he waded through a sodden sort of panic towards true consciousness, he tried his best to cling to that bright place he had just come from. His waking mind knew he had been in the flower field again and yet while he couldn't completely recall what had happened there he knew he wanted whatever it had been to come true. He wanted it with all of his heart.

As the bitterness of reality tore the ghostly remnants of that dream apart, information came to him in trickles, more feelings than actual thoughts. It started with one – _I have been drugged. _What else could explain the heaviness of his limbs and the sluggishness of his mind?

The second realization was – _I am not in my bed_. Whatever he was lying on wasn't the least bit soft and the warm safe feel of his wife was nowhere to be found.

It was also moving. He felt it at first as a vibration similar to being driven in a car – _I am being transported somewhere _- but then a rhythmic yet familiar clacking in his ears told him something new and interesting. He was in no car, he was on a train. He had certainly hitchhiked on them in the past enough to recognize it easily. Only, who the heck traveled by train anymore? Eh, whatever. At least it was much warmer in here than it had been in the woods. It was a heated car.

He tried opening his eyes but it seemed like it took forever for them to open just a crack. Muted light came to him but even medicated he was able to tell that it was almost full dark in here, it was only his enhanced ability to see in the dark that made it seem lighter than it was. He could just make out the lump of a body right in front of him. He reached out with his mind and used his other gift, his empathy, to read the shine there that no one else could see.

Julien.

Relief took him for a moment. In order for him to see a shine, that person had to be alive. Julien's was sparkly and bright, he was just sleeping, sedated as Remy had been. They were not alone, the more Remy tried to focus, the more he could separate glimmers of shine-lights all around him. The other kids were here – warm and safe for the moment. Alive.

Just that one fact gave him comfort. If their captors had wanted them dead, they could have done it very easily while they had all been knocked out. This was probably some ransom gig or maybe even some kind of recruitment drive. It had been done this way in the past once or twice – grab a group and try to win a couple of them over for your own team. Even if just one of these prospects defected, it would be a huge loss for Xavier. While they might look harmless, these kids were the potential for tomorrow. Each and every one was valuable in his own way. Well, the whys of things could wait. For now they were all in good shape and that was good start at least.

That thought soon died a quick death when Remy heard a familiar sound. It was the soft snuffly grumbling that Kimble always made when he was waking. Remy knew this of course, because he and the Siskan had lived together for far too long for him not to. At first Remy was relieved once more to know that his favorite Siskan was alive and well, but the sounds of Kimble waking quickly changed to something else.

"No no no no...!" the pilot was saying, his panic growing with each cry of denial.

Remy automatically reached out towards the sound with one arm, their bond was much too strong for him not to react to it in some way, but all he caught was Julien. Wherever Kimble was, he wasn't that close.

"Kimble... where you at...?" the Thief mumbled bleerily. His eyes still struggled to focus and it was warm and stuffy in here. The light at least seemed to be growing brighter. There were windows here, streaming in diffused sunshine through heavily tinted glass.

The only answer was Kimble's continuing sobs of pain from somewhere close by.

Gambit managed to get up on one elbow and with some effort, rose far enough to peek over Julien's shoulder. Kimble was further away than he had thought. They were on a train all right, but not a conventional one. They were not in sections with seats like a traditional passenger car but the large, roomy car was divided into two cell like sections with a walkway in between. Someone had paid good money for this custom made car, it wasn't bars that separated them, but energy fields that crackled with a sparkly glitter and hummed just a bit, giving the warning that it might not be such a good idea to touch them. Kimble was on the other side of the car, separated by two sets of energy fields and pain.

Kimble was sitting on the floor of his own side, Aiden now pulled up into his arms, as lifeless as a rag doll. Aiden was draped there, his back in Kimble's lap and his head flopped bonelessly back over Kimble's arm with his mouth open, his own arm dangling down like something broken. His skin was still deathly pale, his half open eyelids and lips a bit blue as if from a lack of oxygen. His jacket and shirt were in tatters, revealing his pale white chest, something alarming as he was most often slightly tanned. He was utterly still, not breathing, and didn't respond to Kimble's deepest cries of woe as the pilot sobbed with his face against Aiden's neck. He was as dead as Remy had ever seen him, though like Logan had, he still took some hope in that fact that there was a body at all. Anything was better than three dead star drives in a plastic Ziplock bag. That he had no wish to ever see again.

"Kimble... relax.. It'll be okay..." the Thief tried, even though he had no way of being certain about anything right now. He was still half drugged and had no clear idea of just how much danger they might be in. He just needed Kimble quiet so they could figure this out.

"He ain't gots no shine!" Kimble bawled loudly in response and without shame in his misery. "It's all gones!"

Remy grunted even as he knew this to be true, he wasn't so far away that he couldn't see that Aiden's body was as dark as any other inanimate object that was in that cell. Not that Kimble's own shine was terribly bright, he was still weak from having been overloaded by their kidnapper's Taser. He was exhausted and barely hanging on, even without the distress of his beloved being gone.

Still Remy was a bit surprised to see Aiden so badly trashed. Yes, there had been clues back in the forest that something had gone terribly wrong, Aiden never wasted his spikes for frivolous things, but that didn't have to mean he had been killed, right? Why did it seem like things never worked out for these two?

Remy's empathic mind felt Kimble's anguish from across the room, barriers or no barriers, and shared it. One thing about Kimble was that with his more child like personality, his agony was genuine. Kimble, as emotional and immature as he was, did nothing for show, this wasn't a manipulation. This was Kimble's poor wounded heart shattering. It sent a sharp stab of pain right through Remy's chest and brought tears to his eyes.

"Kimble, espere, sil vous plait..." he tried, knowing it was useless. He didn't like being separated from Kimble like this. He couldn't offer any real comfort like he was accustomed to. He knew there was no way Kimble would survive another significant loss intact. Every other time had resulted in breakage and there were already too many people in there as it was. Unlike the last time Kimble had shattered, there were no repairmen around. If Kimble broke this time, done was done and they would just have to deal with it. It was something Remy had no desire to face.

"I didn't ever wants no squad!" Kimble complained through choking sobs. He didn't care that they had been kidnapped and were being taken away. He didn't care that this was a mission and that he should be acting like a professional. All he cared about was now lying lifeless and cold in his arms. "I ain't never wanted this!"

Remy said the only thing that he could, not because it was helpful, but because it was honest. "You can't change people, cher. He woulda gone anyways, wit or wit'out you, you know dat."

Kimble just pulled Aiden's body that much closer, cheek to cheek now as he sobbed to his poor lifeless lover, "You promised you wouldn't never leaves me..!"

Remy closed his eyes again, sick now and unable to keep watching this play out in front of him. There was nothing like Kimble's pain, no worse thing. It would have been just as bad to watch one of his twins lose the other, the Siskans were that close. Kimble had lost so much over the years and in even more so in the time that Remy had known him personally. It was part of the reason why he was so child like, it was like there was less and less of him each time he suffered such a hard loss and it was agony to be here to see it yet again.

The Thief could hear the others stirring some around him, Kimble's hysterics were loud enough to wake the dead. Listening to them, Remy tried to do a headcount by sound. Julien was still sleeping in his grasp and Hercules was jerking, snorting some as he thrashed a bit in waking. Someone coughed and retched behind him, it sounded like Dewy. Remy wasn't that surprised, the lad had always had a weak stomach. He could puke just from a good hard run, never mind having been poisoned like this. Grace was quietly comforting someone, Izzie most likely.

But then came a sound that was most welcome. Remy opened his eyes again and turned back to where Kimble was. It was like some magical transformation had taken place – Aiden was now suddenly awake, thrashing and gasping for air like he had just come up from drowning, his shine not only firmly back in place as it should be but inexplicably double bright and tinged with a golden yellow, a color Remy had never seen there before. It didn't mean he couldn't guess why it might be there.

Kimble had once been in charge of taking care of an infant he had found, a baby girl he named Angel. He had raised that child from a baby to a beautiful seven year old girl, full of life and fun. Even from the beginning, they all had known she was an unusual child though no one knew for sure in what way. She was precocious and far more mature than her short years could explain. When she had been murdered Aiden had been there. As her body had died, golden energy had sprung from it in the shape of a ball and Aiden had been there to catch it. It absorbed into his body on contact and he had been altered enough by it that his Mark had changed color from Blue to the Gold. Aiden had so far refused medical testing and so not much was known about what else about him might be different. Most of the time, Remy had forgotten about all that happened, but now it flashed through his mind with some force. What the hell was going on?

Kimble, in his relief, garbled something in hysterical Siskan and in spite of Aiden's obvious distress, pulled the Dreamer right up close and swallowed his gasps in a deep passionate kiss.

Where this might have made the situation worse for a normal oxygen deprived human, on Aiden it had the exact opposite effect – he calmed at once like a hungry infant given its mother's breast and he swooned there, returning the kiss with just as much enthusiasm.

Golden glitter sparkled brightly from Aiden's hands in response to his happiness, something else that caught Remy's eye. Unlike the golden glow, this wasn't the first time Remy had seen this. The glitter was called Morrowhiem and was an extreme manifestation of Aiden's Kundatesh empathy. Most of the Siskans the X-men possessed had this ability. Of course seeing it now reminded Remy that the first time he had seen Aiden use this, his glitter had been red, just as it was with the other Siskans who had this particular talent. After Aiden's Mark had changed color the glitter had also changed color and his was now the only one like it. Remy had meant to question him on it, but like everything else, it had fallen to the wayside. He would have to rectify that. There were too many secrets here than he was comfortable with.

"Okay, that I didn't need to see," Hercules grumbled from behind Remy, complaining about the kiss and shifting away so he wouldn't have to look. While Hercules was never that open about it, Remy had long known that the green skinned young man was somewhat homophobic. It wasn't so much that he was grossed out by what two men might do in play, it was more like he viewed them as weaker somehow, this in spite of both Siskans' well known athleticism. Seeing Kimble bawl over Aiden like a hysterical girl had only reenforced Hercules' notion that Kimble was weak, his shine just screamed it, and Remy could hear it loud and clear.

At least, so far, the other kids didn't seem to be so put off by Kimble's outburst even though this was the first time the pair had ever dared to be so demonstrative in front of the squad. They were not publically affectionate by habit, regardless of where they were or who they were with, something that was more of Kimble's idea as he still feared what people thought of him. Aiden could have cared less but he played along for Kimble's sake. It simply wasn't worth fighting over.

"I think it's romantic," came the soft voice of Izzie. She was still young and sweet, always accepting of everyone without question. She had also been kidnapped by Jason Frost as Julien had, but the fiery preacher's sermons and the rough life hadn't touched her as it had Remy's son, she was still optimistic and in love with the world in spite of all she had been through.

Dewy just groaned and retched again.

"Hercules," Gambit said next, using the codename as a precaution. Although he couldn't see anything so obvious there was always the possibility that they were being watched via cameras. "Deal us a hand, sil vous plait."

The kids had drilled and drilled back home, and what had seemed like stupid empty routines then were now coming back to help them. Remy had called certain exercises by the terms associated with card games just in case, as in situations like this, they might be overheard. He had just asked Malcolm to do a head count.

Remy waited for his reply, but it was TrueBlood who promptly answered, "Jack of Diamonds, Two of Clubs, the Ace of Spades and Diamonds on the table."

Remy just smiled in exasperation with the result, of course it would be this way. The cards on the table were the ones missing. Kyle and Logan were unaccounted for but also Tink. Tiny little Tink was easy for the enemy to overlook. Their diminutive teammate was probably still tucked away Dewy's Away Pack and with any luck, remained unknown to their captors. Tink was small but she was bright and crafty. She could be their ace in the hole so to speak. Of course the other one missing was Gryfon. Remy could only hope he was elsewhere on the train, attacking the poor slobs who had taken them and getting them out of this mess. There wasn't much hope of that of course, seeing as how the last thing Remy remembered was that little ratfuck flying away into the trees like a coward.

What was most disappointing to Remy at the moment was that TrueBlood had been the one to answer his request, not Hercules. It didn't take much to see the answer why, he knew it just by reading Hercules' emotional vibrations that were growing stronger by the second – it was handy not having to rely on eyesight alone to know what was going on, the empathy was a big plus. Hercules, though no coward, was terrified and doing his best to hide it behind these off hand remarks. There was some truth in them though, he had turned away from the Kimble and Aiden soap opera that was still playing on in the next cell in disgust and couldn't focus on the job right here and now. Well, at least TrueBlood had had the good sense to be on the ball.

Remy moved, trying to work his legs under himself and succeeded enough that he was on his knees and elbows. It was his head though, that just seemed too heavy to come up off the floor. He pushed up with his arms and with a groan, managed to look up, trying to focus on Aiden and Kimble.

What he saw made him blink twice. The strange golden light of Aiden's shine had spread and taken on a life of its own, enveloping Kimble as they continued to kiss, oblivious to the show they were putting on. Kimble was sobbing in that kiss, unable to contain what he was feeling – terror, joy, relief that his anchor was still alive. The longer they kissed, the more that golden light enveloped them and the stronger Kimble's shine was growing, as if it was feeding him in the same way a bright burst of sunshine would have done. Remy wasn't sure but he thought the golden light was taking its own shape as if it wasn't just a cloud, but a living thing, one he had once known well.

**Angel,** Shi'ow-ri whispered, her voice trembly with excitement.

_Angel's dead, _Remy corrected inwardly to that with real sadness at the loss, but his mind wasn't so certain. He had been just as close to that child as Kimble had been and his heart knew otherwise. It was like her soul had just shown itself to him and winked at him as if in play.

Shi'ow-ri just laughed. **Is she now? **

Remy had no answer to that. He watched as that golden being dissipated and sank into the pair of lovers, fading gradually away and yet, the couple gave no notice of it at all. It was the drugs, Remy reasoned. It had to be. He was still in no condition to even stand. He was probably just hallucinating.

"Zere would be not'ing ever to take me from you, my love," Aiden said, finally breaking off their prolonged kiss to speak to his precious lover. He was keeping his voice low, aware that they were being overheard. It wasn't enough to keep him from saying what needed to be said. "Aiden keepsz hisz promiszesz."

"Dont'cha ever scares me likes that again!" Kimble scolded, breathless from crying so hard. "I thought you wuz gone...!"

"Aiden wasz, but you call to me, my love..." he replied, palming Kimble's cheeks and wiping his tears away. They were both sitting up now, a further sign that Aiden was really okay. "...and Aiden 'eard you from szo far away, me. It will take more zan deat' to keep me from you. Alwaysz."

Kimble shuddered and groaned at that, sagging into Aiden's ready arms, his heart as bruised as bruised could be.

Remy had only a second to even register that faint conversation when it was interrupted by the rude sound of slow hand clapping.

The Thief jerked in alarm, immediately recognizing it as unfriendly and without meaning to, let a small defensive kinetic charge bleed out from his hands onto the floor.

Julien remained quiet, but someone else next to him cried out in surprise and pain, scrambling away after getting a bit of shock from that. These little losses of control were still happening but thankfully this one wasn't that bad. Remy had no time to worry himself about it, his eyes were now on the tall slender form that had now separated itself from the shadows on the back wall. He cursed himself for not having noticed they hadn't been alone, but hey, coming off hard from a bad sedation trip can do that to a guy. Shame though, mistakes like this could get someone killed.

The mysterious hand clapper hadn't been in either cell, but had been against one of the doors of the car, taking advantage of the drugged prisoners and the dim lighting to eavesdrop a bit. When he finally stepped into the light of the hallway, Remy didn't recognize him at all, but Aiden certainly did.

"Ah, we meet again, my szweet," Aiden joked with a short laugh. "Aiden too pretty fo' you to passz up on twizce, eh?"

The man just smiled indulgently and looked down on the pair of Siskans. This was indeed the Mohawked and tattooed assailant from the forest, still shirtless and as dangerous looking now as he had been then. His bare chest was unmarked from what Aiden had done to him and when he laughed, the smile never reached his cold grey eyes. "I am impressed," he spoke in that flawless English. "But pleased to see you are well just the same. Not many people who taste my claws live to joke about it."

With that, he slid two of the long bone claws out from one hand.

"Fuck me...!" Hercules gasped in surprise at that but hushed when Remy hissed at him to be silent.

"What you want wit us?" Gambit demanded next, not happy that this slender young man was giving him his back. He couldn't quite see what was going on. Were those really claws? What the heck did they get messed up in?

He never got his answer. What followed was shocking and loud. Kimble's tear streaked face turned into something quite different as Zander returned with a bang. The Punisher gave no warning but with a loud howl of feral rage, flung himself against the barrier that contained him with enough telekinetic force to rock the train car itself on its wheels. He cared not that Aiden tumbled from him in a tangle of limbs or that he had been trampled on in the process. All Zander cared about at that moment was punishment and revenge.

The kids all began to protest loudly when they slid against one another to one side of the train car as it tipped oh so dangerously, one of the girls was outright screaming in terror until the car eventually righted itself. The tattooed young man in aisle however, stayed as he had been, swaying only slightly to maintain his balance, but nothing more. It was as if violent and terrible things like this happened to him all the time or as if he had lost the ability to be surprised. Of course it could have been the fact that he was hard to injure, his bright shine was proof of that.

"Oh, my. I wouldn't do that again," he purred at Zander, his voice showing no fear. "You might accidently kill one of your little friends."

"The only one I care about is right here with me!" Zander snarled in return, his body still defensively in front of Aiden's. He conjured his sword, the shield flowing neatly around his wrist until it hardened, wicked and deadly, glinting hungrily in the half light. He didn't charge it, not just yet, but it probably wouldn't be long before he did.

Whatever response their visitor might have had was cut off when a small radio clipped to his belt chirped, "Daken! What was that?"

The name was pronounced Dah-ken, sounding even more unusual than it already was, being uttered by such a guttural voice. The man who had spoken it sounded as though he had a mouth full of gravel and teeth, teeth that were as large as the hole where his sense of humor was clearly missing. This was a man in charge and he was not amused.

Daken, the young man now named, was as fearless of that voice as he seemed to be of everything else around him. He was still placid and steady as he lifted the radio to his lips and calmly answered, "An interesting development."

"I want a full report!" the voice on the other end demanded in a harsh growl, clearly hoping to get his way.

"I'll need a moment," Daken replied, still unfazed, and simply clicked off the device before further orders could come. He gave Zander a considering look, this Siskan who stood before him, an impatient bundle of barely contained fury. "You sound different now from the one who cries. You look the same and yet... you are not. You are a man with two voices and only one face. I saw your skin go pale with no color and yet, color has once again returned. And your friend..." he was looking at Aiden now. "You two are not even fully alive, are you?"

Zander just grinned at him, showing plenty of fang. "Oh, yer a regular genius, ain'tcha, boy? Sharpest tool in yer little ole shed."

"Don't blame ze boy if 'e a leetle szlow," Aiden joked with Zander, rising from the floor and dusting off from being dumped so rudely. He slid the tattered remains of his ruined parka and shirt off of his shoulders as he bragged, "I did szpike him pretty good b'fore 'e lay me down."

"Boys," Remy chided from his own cell. He had managed to find his feet and was up now, swaying slightly more from the motion of the moving car now than from being sick. "Ain't no need to pick on de boy on account he mebbe got a few issues, y'all." He was keeping his voice light, but at the same time, he was making small hand signals to the kids behind them, asking for their patience and calm. He didn't want them to worry just yet. He addressed their captor, continuing to joke, "I can understand how a po' boy like you might need someone to talk to, what wit bein' distressed and all over yo' 80's haircut and last year's tats, but really, dere's a hotline for dat. Number's right in de book. You coulda just dropped us a line wit'out 'avin' to go t'rough all dis fuss just for some therapy, hien?"

Daken looked over his shoulder back at him, his smile growing though the laughter still never reached his cold dark eyes. "You fancy yourself a comedian. How interesting. It's been my experience that most people who joke around in high stress situations do so to cover their own cowardice."

It was Remy's turn to smile a smile no warmer than Daken's had been. "Now who's bein' funny? How about you make up fo' bein' all deluded and let us go b'fore we forced to make you dead, d'accorde?"

"That is quite impossible, I assure you," Daken promised, turning his head halfway back towards Zander, keeping an eye on them both.

"You see this here belt?" Zander questioned, wanting the man's full attention as he patted the belt around his waist. "It's got nice neat teeny little notches on it. Soon, it's gonner haves one just fer you."

Daken's smile grew into something more genuine, recognizing with respect that the threat was honest. This creature had killed before just as surely as he himself had. It was in the nasty little glint in his eye that matched the one in his own. Still he replied with laughter in his voice, "This is a Starktech 3000 prisoner transport car, top of the line, just as SHIELD uses for its worst offenders. You and your pretty little friend there will remain nice and safe, just as you are."

Zander was unimpressed. "Well, we'll just sees about that, won't we?"

In a flash, Zander charged his sword and with a wide sweep of well muscled arms, thrust it point first as hard as he could into the shimmering barrier in front of him. It hit the shield with a loud bang, making quite the racket, but didn't shatter the shield as Zander had hoped. That didn't mean it wasn't having any effect – the sword itself began to smoke and melt as part of it slowly dissolved into the energized field. The shield accepted the intruder, actually warping and melting, glowing bright as all those strange energies melded and blended together. It bellied out like molten glass, glowing whiter and whiter, expanding out as it grew larger from Zander's push. The sword was feeding it, or at least hopefully overloading it. The combination of noise and light was frightening, a demonic display that matched the anger and frustration on Zander's twisted face as he put everything he had into it, straining as the large muscles in his arms bunched and flexed from the effort.

Aiden watched this with a mixture of awe and horror. He was impressed with the display, he had no idea that the sword could hold as much plasma energy as all that, but he would rather have had Zander save his best weapon as a surprise for later. He didn't realize of course that Zander had already tried to use the sword against Daken earlier though he hadn't charged it then. He certainly had the young man's attention now. Still, as much of an as eyeful as this was giving off, Aiden had his doubts that this was going to work.

Daken took a cautious step back, finally experiencing something that had actually surprised him. He was patient though, and didn't make any attempt to stop this until he noted that the control panel for the shield on that side of the car was starting to smoke. The overhead lights, dim as they were, began to flicker as well.

Remy wasn't nearly so willing to let such a golden opportunity pass him by. He reached into one of his roomy jacket pockets and found a collection of loose metal objects that he often kept stashed there in case he needed something quick and easy to charge with kinetic energy. It was the same as being perpetually armed and he was thankful that when the team had been moved from the forest to the train that they hadn't been searched. His mind went through his stash of items quickly – ball bearings? No, they might bounce back at the kids. He needed something pointed just as Zander's sword had been. Ah, yes. He had two throwing stars and after selecting them, he took them out and charged them as much as dared, tossing them against his own barrier, hoping to overload the already challenged system. Surely both panels had to be interconnected in the car they shared.

Even as he let his own missiles fly, he was momentarily blinded as beside him, Trigger let loose with two large bolts of electricity from his hands in combination, lightning strikes for real. Remy was momentarily filled with elation, the lad had acted without being ordered, following his example promptly, just as they had trained for.

Their actions were not without result. Stars struck and bolts hit. There was a loud boom to match the one Zander had made on his end and the car went abruptly black as all the lights went out. The barrier in front of him flickered and appeared to go out as well so Remy let out a cry of victory. He took two steps forward, ready to take Daken on and get this over with but that was as far as he got. There was a brief flash of orange yellow as hazard lights came on revealing clouds of smoke in the air. It was followed instantly by a hiss of gas. Remy's throat constricted and he stumbled clumsily to his knees, coughing. Trigger collapsed alongside him, choking as he gasped out curses that could hardly be understood.

Remy's outstretched hand hit the screen in front of him and he realized that though it had stopped shimmering, the containment field was still firmly in place. His mind went all grey and fuzzy, his sight going but his ears still able to hear the sound of the kids coughing from all around him, they were all going down. So close and yet so far.

"Silly children," came Daken's voice from somewhere in the fog. "I did say this was prisoner transport car, did I not? Of course it would be equipped to handle the likes of you."

The gas may have affected the humans in the group, Daken with his healing factor aside, but the Siskans weren't organic and stood as they had been. The gas didn't hinder either of them in the least. Zander still had his sword ensnared in his own barrier, still letting it have all he had though he was nearly spent from the effort. This had taken too much time, time they did not have. The shield was still holding but probably not for long, Zander could wear it down as long as nothing else stood in his way.

Daken watched this, a perplexed frown on his face. He had expected the Siskans to go down with the gas like the others had but they had not. No, in fact the possibility remained that Zander who was still at work, might even win his battle. It was time to stop this.

Daken didn't have any option but one. He was still armed with the Taser and even though it was risky for him to touch the overcharged barrier himself, he aimed it at the point where Zander's sword was still melting into the barrier and took a shot. The points from the Taser flew out as directed and connected to the exact spot where Zander's sword had fused with the shield. Energy flew out in a deadly arc and added its own chaos to the mess.

Aiden, seeing the danger, tried to dislodge Zander's hands from his sword but it was already too late. The shield had taken one dose of energy too much and finally failed with a loud bang, but not before sending a charged backlash through the two Siskans that took them out neat as you please. Zander made inhuman howling noises of pain as his hands literally melted around the hilt of the sword he still grasped even as he fell, his skin flickering wildly in and out, grey to color and then grey again. Aiden's matched it in a kaleidoscope of color, changing from male to female, to shapes it hadn't used in a long while as Aiden mainly used the two skins he loved best. The pair of Siskans crumpled to the floor in a reckless tangle of artificial appearances, thrashing about intertwined as if in crude imitation of the love they had made only just last night, only this time without the pleasure or joy being shared.

Daken missed most of the show, having ducked to cover his face as sparks flew about everywhere. He felt them burn the bare skin of his arms but he cared not. His job was done, he had heard the pair of troublesome creatures go down so gracelessly and knew they had at the very least been stunned. When the noise had died and the smoke cleared a bit, he saw that they were much more than that, both were as lifeless as Aiden had been when he had been brought aboard.

Well, he had been correct. It had been an interesting development after all.


	3. Chapter 3

(Three)

The Lucky Dragon hovered over the train tracks silent and cloaked. It appeared to be calm on the outside but inside its occupants were hard at work.

Jean and Rogue had returned aboard with the samples they had collected from the truck and now the work began in analyzing it. Yes, they could have returned home to do this but what was the point? With Warren and themselves possibly infected with something contagious, they wouldn't have been able to enter the Complex without putting too many people at risk.

Hank was quarantining himself and Warren even further by not letting any of the others above come below to the area where he was working. Just because the others had been exposed didn't mean they had all actually gotten infected. Hank, however, had had much more intimate contact just by treating poor Warren for his injuries. The pair of women left their collections at the top of the lower level stairs and Hank came and took them below himself to the mini lab.

Hank was busy, busier than he had been in some time. This was his first official outing since his poisoning and now more than ever he was feeling his limitations. Working the slides, placing samples in the machines he had at hand, everything was taking longer than he was used to because he had to move so much more carefully. It wouldn't do to drop or contaminate what limited samples they were even lucky to have obtained. He didn't have a full working lab here, that much was true, but he did have enough equipment on hand to at least get some answers that might send them off on a direction that could help.

Unfortunately for some even these small steps were taking too long. Bobby, master of impatience, yawned and stretched. "Is this all we can do? Just hang out here? This is so boring."

"I've got a Shrek DVD if you really need the amusement," Fallen teased. Seth, being fairly innocent, found many children's cartoons entertaining and Fallen had a good assortment on board.

"I think I'd rather have my eyes gouged out," Bobby joked in return and flopped down on one of the rows of seats, his long legs sticking out into the isle. He sighed painfully and with dramatic flair, a less than subtle whine.

Rogue just shook her head with a short laugh and offered, "Didn't Remy say he found a note from Logan back at the cabin? Maybe we could poke around there. It wouldn't be much of a backtrack, right?"

Scott nodded, happy to have good input from his team. "It's only a few minutes from here. I don't see how it could hurt."

"Fine by me," Hank agreed, happy to give the others something to do. His tests were going to take some time.

"Make it so," Scott said to Fallen, doing his best Captain Picard impression, and she did.

Moments later the ship settled over the cabin and once again, the upstairs team departed and had their look at the cabin. Fallen and Hank stayed behind this time but Jean, being a master telepath, kept them all in the loop via her telepathy. Even though they were not all in the same location, it would be the same as if they were all in the same room.

Remy had seen fit to at least close the back door that Logan had left open but he hadn't locked it so they had no trouble getting inside. The interior was pretty much as Remy had left it, minus the note that Logan had left behind. That had gone along with Remy and now that team was missing.

Bobby looked around and sniffed. "This place is a lot neater than when I saw it last," he observed just for something to say. He opened a cupboard and quirked an eyebrow when he noted all the cans organized by type and neatly stacked. "Since when is Logan this OCD?"

Fallen was still on board the ship but she was mentally connected to the team in the cabin. She was new to the duality of seeing both where she was and what the others were as well, but she was learning. She had to close her eyes to keep the two worlds from blurring. Still, she had to laugh at Bobby's comical observations. "That's Kimble's doing, not Logan's. Probably stacked his toilet paper rolls in the bathroom, too."

And she would know. Kimble had been her Second on board her ship for a good long time before the X-men had run across them. In pure Siskan fashion, he and Seth had kept everything in tip top shape for her. To say they were organized was something of an understatement.

Bobby just grunted a laugh at Fallen's comment and shut the cupboard. Still easily bored, his limited attention span was however neatly snagged by the wrapped plate of leftover brownies that had been left on the counter. There had been plenty and the plate was quite full. He grinned largely and helped himself to one, making mumbly noises of joy as he wolfed it down. Kimble was quite skilled at baking and his portion sizes were generous as well.

"Didn't you eat any breakfast?" Rogue complained, watching him with annoyance as he grabbed another.

"Didn't have time," he answered happily with his mouth full. "These are awesome. You should have one."

She turned away, not because they didn't smell great, they surely did, but because there was enough lingering jealousy there for Remy's affection of the Siskan. She still blamed Kimble for the bad break up between her and the Thief even though it hadn't really been the Siskan's fault. Old habits just died hard and she didn't want anything that had come from him.

Jean and Scott didn't comment, they had moved on to Logan's bedroom, looking for more clues. This room didn't show Kimble's touch in the least, the Siskan had respected Logan's privacy that much, so the area was in shambles. The bed was unmade, dirty laundry was scattered on the floor. The night table had an overflowing ashtray and a small collection of empty beer bottles that were set along the rear wall.

Jean ignored all that. She was to a certain degree used to it - Logan wasn't the neatest guy even back home - though this was worse than his usual lack of caring. She turned a blind eye to it and went right to his drawers, opening them and poking around inside.

Scott wasn't sure she was going to find anything there more interesting than Logan's natty old socks but he turned to look at her when she made a small noise of surprise. "What did you find?"

His wife stepped back from the drawer, three rumpled papers in her hands. "Looks like he tried to fill out a field report on his last mission and had a bad time with it."

"Let me see that, please," he asked, speaking as her team leader.

It didn't matter. Her green eyes flashed to him, looking at him hard. She hadn't read much but it was enough that she was growing quickly furious. "Did you know about this?"

Scott crossed his arms with some impatience. Yeah, being Xavier's second in command meant that he was somewhat familiar with the basics of what Logan had been sent to do but it was Xavier who had been playing fast and loose with the details once it had been completed. Really, Jean shouldn't have had to ask this question. Scott wouldn't have sent Remy here in the first place if he had already known for sure what was bugging Logan so badly. "I don't know all of it."

Jean squinted at him, not quite believing him but respecting his mental privacy too much to jam her way into his head to find out for sure. Her face was flushed as she stalked over to him and pressed her hand roughly against his chest, pushing him back with the papers Logan had so desperately tried to fill. They were badly wrinkled, as if Logan had crumpled them up at one point before throwing them away and then smoothed them out, saving them.

Her eyes bored into him, sparkling with accusation and rage. "He has two young daughters," she admonished, reminding him about Logan's growing brood. "Just you remember that."

Scott staggered a bit as she gave him a short push in warning and released the papers and him as well, stalking out in a huff. Bewildered by her inexplicable anger and hostile reminder that Logan was a father, he grabbed at the papers before they fell and squinted at them, trying to read through Logan's rough scrawl. The field report forms were pretty basic, they mostly consisted of lines stenciled in so you could tell your story neatly. The papers Jean had given him were duplicates, three tries that Logan had made, trying to explain in detail what he had accomplished on the mission. Frustrated and angry, each successive reply had degenerated into a darker spiral of profanity and barely legible scrawls of rage.

Scott sighed and sat down on Logan's rumpled and unmade bed, feeling the heavy responsibility of leadership weigh heavily on his shoulders. Jean should have known better than anyone how he was feeling, their bond was deeper than any normal human pairing because of her telepathy. Just because he had known that Logan had been sent on a kill mission didn't mean he was oblivious to the guy's family situation. Still, he wasn't even sure just why that should have been relevant, anyhow.

What had been important at the time was controlling the panic. The fact that the deadly Flush contagion was being spread by a mutant was becoming common knowledge to the general public at large. Containment camps had been set up and folks had disappeared in the night never to be seen again. As that knowledge spread, what few mutants that were left in this country were being bullied into subsistence living or just outright running for their lives. Children were being harassed and homes burned. It hadn't mattered that these victims had nothing to do with the virus itself, people were just looking for someone to blame and punish. People were dying and lives were being destroyed. Something had needed to be done and if the one person most responsible for this had to die without a trial and due process, well, so be it. Jean should have understood this even if she didn't condone it. But what this had to do with Logan's family life was still something of a mystery.

Determined to find out, Scott rearranged the papers, deciding it might be best to just read them in descending order, starting with Logan's first attempt. It was terse and sparse, not really explaining why Logan had been so upset when he had written it.

_**Field reporter **__: Wolverine._

_**Mission Objective **__: Terminate source of Flush contagion._

_**Details**__: Followed Xavier's orders to Brent station and quickly spotted the target as had been described. Mutant female (verified as the carrier of the contagion by scent) led by mutant male (identified as Marcus, formerly of Jael's employ). Female's clothing matched description Xavier passed on during initial debrief. Marcus was unexpected, but as he was listed on the Blue Sheets, protocol demanded his removal by extreme sanction. The termination orders were justified in both cases so I proceeded as directed. _

_I followed the pair without being observed as they exited the station's main room and into the men's restroom. Dispatched both as ordered inside the restroom and placed incendiary devices around the female. Lit devices and left, exiting the station before the explosion destroyed both the evidence and the female's body. It was Hank's belief that this would eliminate enough of the remains that any residual contagion would also be destroyed. Current occupants of the station already fatally infected so the additional casualties were justified. Mission time, 10 minutes from time of spotting to exit. _

Scott frowned. Logan was usually short and sweet when he filled out his reports, just wanting to get them done – he wasn't a fan of doing paperwork any more than Remy was – but this was abrupt and clipped even for him. He was obviously not saying everything that had happened. Scott, not keen on assassination in the first place, hadn't been happy about sending the man on a point and shoot mission but this time the stakes were just too high. Flush victims were mounting and there had been little evidence that the infections were accidental. Quarantine camps had been set up and the hysteria was growing out there daily. Something had needed to be done and quickly.

But still, Logan had done kill missions in the past with little or no fuss, ones that had been ordered under more dubious circumstances. Why had this one been so hard on him?

Scott read the second paper and his frown deepened when he saw this one was both more detailed and angry. Tendrils of Logan's anger had leaked out around his words and exposed themselves in partly hidden snippets of bitter sarcasm as he described:

_**Field reporter **__: Wolverine._

_**Mission Objective **__: Terminate source of Flush contagion._

_**Details**__: Followed Xavier's orders to Brent station and quickly spotted the target as had been described. Mutant female (verified as the contagion by scent) led by mutant male (identified as Marcus, formerly of Jael's employ). Female's clothing matched description Xavier passed on during initial debrief. Marcus was unexpected, but as he was listed on the Blue Sheets, protocol demanded his removal by extreme sanction. The termination orders were justified in both cases so I proceeded as directed. _

_Xavier failed to mention that the female was underage, but in the short time I observed the pair, the scent of the contagion was stronger and stronger. The order to terminate her had to be followed, there was no way I could abort and allow the infections to continue. Everyone in the station at this moment was already going to die no matter if the target was removed or not. More would follow if I did nothing. It just would have been better if Xavier could have arranged this to happen in a less populated area. _

_I followed the pair without being observed as they exited the station's main room and into the men's restroom. The female was left outside as Marcus entered the men's room alone. I followed him inside, dispatched him, and stashed him in the handicap stall. Then I went outside and lured the underage female inside under a false pretense and then dispatched her humanely. I placed the incendiary devices around the body of the female. Had spares as her body was smaller than expected. Lit devices and left, exiting the station before the explosion destroyed both the evidence of my Xavier sanctioned crime and the female's body. It was Hank's belief that this would eliminate enough of the remains that any residual contagion would also be destroyed. Current occupants of the station already infected so the additional casualties were justified. Mission time, 10 minutes from time of spotting to exit. _

Scott sighed, still not fully understanding what the problem was exactly but it became abundantly clear as he quickly scanned the third page. Here Logan spelled out real the source of his rage and well, it wasn't like Scott could exactly blame the guy.

_**Field reporter **__: The Fucking Wolverine, Assassin for Hire._

_**Mission Objective**__: Taking out the trash._

_**Details**__: Followed Chuck's orders to Brent station and quickly spotted the target like the old legless wonder said I would. Some little kid (plague carryin' so that makes it all okay) led by the hand by Marcus (Asshole #5 on the Most Wanted Asshole List). Kid was underage and obviously bein' used by Marcus to kill the whole damn world, but hey, it's not like the Wolverine would give a shit about that, he is the best at what he does after all, which on occasion means killin' innocent children. _

_Marcus (the afore mentioned asshole) was unexpected, but as he was listed on the Blue Sheets, protocol demanded his removal by extreme and hopefully painful sanction. Why waste the gas or the lethal injection on scum like that? Gotta save them taxpayer dollars, you know. _

_I followed them into the men's room and killed them quick. Well, I had a little fun with Marcus since he deserved more than a little tenderizing. The girl was done quick, though. Nothing like the sound of a ten year old girl's neck snapping to get your morning going... _

The rest was a curse ridden diatribe of profanity and such bitter invective that Scott had no wish to decipher it. Scott swore softly and clenched his fist not caring that he had further crumpled the already rumpled papers. He'd had no idea that the girl was so young and he knew without a doubt that Charles Xavier, their supposedly perfect leader, most certainly had. The way the man tracked mutants telepathically didn't allow for mistakes. If he had known what she was wearing, he had absolutely also learned her age. Still, he had sent Logan anyway, a man with those two aforementioned daughters, one eight, the other nine. So close in age to the female victim. Logan hadn't been sent on many kill missions lately, they were at odds with the X-men's general mission statement of peaceful cooperation and therefore very rare that was true, and in that time he had built a family, something he had never had before and so heartily deserved for all of his lifelong sacrifices.

So why had Charles sent Logan in the first place? Had things really grown that desperate? If so, why hadn't the Professor just let SHIELD handle it? Surely even the Professor knew that just because Logan could heal didn't mean he couldn't be hurt in deeper, more profound ways than a physical injury? Scott was going to have a few words with his mentor when he got back, that was certain. These things could not go unchallenged. At the very least, Logan's special talents had to be shelved, now that the supposedly unbreakable man was clearly showing signs of real wear. He had earned that right.

Hoping to find more details about the mission, Scott returned to the drawer where Jean had found the papers and scrounged around inside. Jean had been too upset to look as well as she could have and Scott discovered what she had missed. There were five plastic medicinal skin patches buried under some other scraps of paper, two of them used and spotted with fine droplets of blood – gross! – and three still sealed. They were labeled for medicinal use, but there was no indication of what medicine was in them. They looked like experimental patches, ones to be used in a lab and not for general use. He had no idea what they were for, but the blood alone seemed to dictate that he should take them. Maybe Hank would know what they were for.

Scott collected the patches and joined the others. There was nothing else the cabin had to tell other than that Remy had not only failed to stop Logan from drinking, he had been doing a fair bit of it himself. Scott scowled, but then reminded himself that the Thief hadn't seemed impaired at all that morning. Still, as a squad leader that kind of behavior wasn't to be encouraged. Words would have to be spoken about it.

"Anything else, boss?" Bobby asked, looking much more contented after his brownie flavored breakfast.

"I think we're done here," Scott answered. "Let's go see if Hank came up with anything."

Bobby nodded and they left, leaving the empty cabin behind.

**(break)**

Like Remy, Kyle came awake slowly. His rise to consciousness hadn't followed any sweet dreams of marvelous future children, however, his dreams were most often nightmare flashbacks of his dark and unsatisfactory life and this time had been no exception.

He woke to find himself lying on his back on a cot and not in a cell though he was tightly restrained with a wide, hospital style leather belt across his chest. His right arm lay stretched out beside him taped to a wooden board, an IV stuck there like an unwelcome friend. The belt was an unnecessary effort to contain him, he was heavy now, blazing with fever and hardly able to breathe never mind put up any kind of fight. He recalled being shot by Daken out in the trees but not much else. He had no memory of being moved from the forest to wherever he was now.

He realized he was in some kind of transport, he could feel the floor beneath him moving and heard the unfamiliar rhythmic clack of metal wheels on tracks. Was this a train? He had never actually been on one before though he had some faint memories of seeing them from home, many moons ago in Canada. He had wanted to ride them then, to be carried far far away to a better place than in the dirty shack he had lived in with his dad. There had been even more trains near to the Weapon X facility that he had been so fond of escaping from. He hadn't gotten too close to those either, distracted as he had been by thoughts of blood and murder, but he had once wanted to ride those as well. As much as he had formerly fantasized about escaping on them in the past, he didn't want to be taken away now. He had an idea he was being brought to a place far worse than the Weapon X facility had been. Figures his first real train ride would be as the result of being captured. How very typical of his sorry, peace forsaken life.

He tried to look around him but he couldn't see much. The car he was in was dark and gloomy. There were windows to either side of him but they were so darkly tinted he wasn't sure if it was night or day. He could see vague shapes there, the tops of forest trees as they rushed by, but he was too low to see any more details of the area they were passing through.

Kyle grunted and shifted, feeling a sticky sweat forming on his back. His skin was itchy, his fever burning. He wasn't trying to break free from his restraints, that was impossible. He could no sooner do that than wipe the sweat soaked and bloody, matted hair from his eyes.

"Yer not gitten out so don't bother, kid," came a low growly voice from somewhere close.

Kyle closed his eyes and whimpered, feeling defeat swamp him with even more despair than the fever that was seeming to burn him away to ash. He knew who it was that had spoken and it brought him only pain. "Mrr! You.. you gone!" he complained in a dry rasp, his throat thick with thirst.

"Oh, I never left, kid," the voice replied, coming closer. "I just came home is all."

Kyle opened his eyes as he felt the larger man loom over him. Kyle was seriously ill, sicker than he had been in many long years, but still his eyes did not deceive him. "Tooth..."

"That's right, kid," Sabretooth confirmed, his grin wide and unfriendly. "It's yer ole pal. Just like old times, eh?"

Victor Creed, the infamous Sabretooth, was not a small man. He was large and well muscled, every ounce the predator his name claimed him to be. He was as blonde as Kyle was as if he were the boy's father, and in a certain way, he was. Kyle had been born a normal human, but as a runaway on the streets he had been picked up by Weapon X for experimentation. They knew no one would miss him, no one would care if he died. Always seeking the next Super Soldier, they treated Kyle with DNA altering blood serums created from biological materials derived from both Logan and Sabretooth. His body had responded as expected, Kyle's inner feral mind had burst forth and Wild Child had been born.

Kyle's relationship with Sabretooth hadn't been limited to mere blood. Once converted to his new form, Wild Child was moved along for actual combat and assassination training. Logan and Sabretooth were both his instructors there at this time. The two men had thrived on the military style lifestyle while Wild Child floundered and failed at it, hence all the escape attempts. Eventually Wild Child's handlers grew tired of his failings and the Program eventually dumped him. Since then Wild Child had moved through time and place, passing on to one abusive Master or controller to another, finding each new home no better than the last. If Kyle had a true mutant power, it seemed to be that he was so easily exploited. One of his last would be owners, the terrorist named Jael, had even gone so far as to depower the boy with an experimental machine, leaving him for dead in a pile of trash.

Kyle had been found there by an exceptional Siskan. Skye was a sexual sadist and a monster, but he had an eye for talent. He was at that time seeking to destroy Jael, something that required a lion or two to get it done. Skye knew that Jael was collecting specially made Siskans as part of the Game, taking their powers and possessions if they had any, and then destroying them. That simply would not do. Once he found Kyle, Skye showered him with love and torture, further twisting an already broken man into a lion of his own.

Where Star's power was to heal, Skye was able to restore powers to those who had lost them. It came with a price - an addiction to the Kudatesh empathy, the power that had done the restoration. Grateful to be alive and now thoroughly addicted to Skye's healing power, Kyle found himself unfailingly loyal to the one who had remade him. For the first time in his life, Kyle had found some measure of peace and happiness.

Skye wasn't done, however. Delighted with his success in creating one lion to help him with his revenge, Skye collected himself another – Sabretooth.

Sabretooth had also run afoul of Jael and been depowered as well for his trouble – Kyle had just been the test run for Jael's amusement – making Sabretooth as easy prey for Skye as Kyle had been. Skye had a knack for finding discarded things and so he took advantage of opportunity and found what Jael no longer had use for. Sabretooth soon fell under Skye's spell as Kyle had done and both did whatever Skye demanded of them. It was slavery more than mind control, they were both perfectly aware of their predicament, yet they were both trapped.

While Skye was delighted his little army was growing, Kyle was not. Just as at the Weapon X Program, Kyle was once more in direct competition with Sabretooth, this time for the affections of the Master. Kyle had wanted a permanent home and had every intention of staying just where he was but Sabretooth desired only revenge against the one who had depowered him. He would use Skye just as much as the man was using him, he would willingly submit to the Siskan - for now. Jael needed to die and die he would. In the meantime, the competition for Best Pet in Skye's home began in earnest.

As was typical, the inevitable place setting fight between Kyle and Sabretooth had been bloody and final, with Kyle once more the loser. Adding insult to that injury, in spite of Kyle's most heroic and loyal efforts to please the Master out in the field of battle, it had been Sabretooth who had finally completed Skye's mission by killing Jael. Even worse, when it was done, the big man had simply walked away from Skye's control, easy breezy. Maddening, all of it.

The final, epic battle against Jael had taken place at the X-men's Arizona Complex, an incident that had cost so many of the X-men's lives and had left so many pets like Belle stranded and alone. Jael had brought his army to seize the Siskans the X-men had and the X-men had an army of their own to protect them. The battle had been quick but costly, with a great many casualties on both sides. When it was finished and Sabretooth had Jael's head as his prize, Skye and his two lions were then taken into custody by the X-men. Both Kyle and Sabretooth were already renowned murderers even before this and had to be locked up for everyone's safety (though, truly, no one mourned the loss of Jael, his murder was more like a grand public service). Skye was incarcerated simply because he was clearly mad. It was decided that he wouldn't be destroyed since it was discovered that he, too, was Kimble's kin. The X-men's collection of these mysterious creatures had just grown larger. Skye was still there in custody even now, the only Siskan left at the Complex to remain so.

Even though they had been locked up, both Kyle and Sabretooth still had their uses and the X-men allowed them out to participate in a recent mission. Both had gone out but only Kyle had returned home. Sabretooth had been mysteriously stolen at the mission's end and hadn't been seen or heard from since. All attempts by the X-men to discover his whereabouts had ended in failure. That had been fine with Kyle, but now it seemed that reprieve was over.

"Mrr... you came home?" Kyle questioned the big man now, not understanding what Victor had meant by it. All he was aware of was the train. They were nowhere.

Sabretooth just grinned, leaning over him to bring a cup of water with a straw to Kyle's poor parched mouth. He allowed the boy to drink greedily before taking the cup away. He stood straight and flicked Kyle's IV line with a claw.

"I know it don't seem like it now, but yer gonna thank me in the long run. It was my idea to have you picked up. The boss was only interested in Logan but I put in a good word fer ya."

_Was that supposed to be a compliment? _Kyle couldn't help but wonder with a deep dark sarcasm. Recruitment for him had always ended in nothing but heartache, blood and pain. Even Skye had abandoned him at the end. His whole life had been one long endless string of being used only to be later tossed aside. The idea of it filled him with rage and he spat, "Mrr! Fuck you!"

Sabretooth just laughed, the sound deep and hearty. Skye had healed him from Jael's cruel depower-ment and the cure had stuck. He was strong, powerful and completely at ease. He was large, fit and healthy - everything that poor scrawny Kyle, who shared so many of the same attributes, was supposed to be and yet still wasn't. Kyle's feeble retorts amused him and he said, "Yer a feisty one. The boss is gonna just love that."

Kyle thrashed, letting his rising indignation and jealousy get the best of him. Another boss, another source of competition. Like he really needed that in his life again. His heart rate soared at the thought, something that usually helped him recover from whatever poisons might be holding him down, but now all it did was make him dizzy and lightheaded. He gagged, feeling his gorge rise and he fought to keep the water he had just drunk down.

"Don't fight it, kid," Sabretooth advised in a voice that for him, Kyle supposed, was intended to pass as fatherly concern. Being the monster that he was, it simply sounded like a threat instead. "You'll meet the boss soon enough and then you'll see. He's gonna set ya free, boy, freer than you ever been in yer whole miserable life."

Kyle closed his eyes, knowing better. Why should he trust anything this man said? They had been bitter enemies longer than some folks had been alive. Kyle had suffered enough in that time that he could trust no one ever again.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. He did trust one man just a little.

Kyle had been handled by many different people in his long life, but none of them had treated him with the same kind of respect that Remy had these past weeks. It wasn't that the Thief fully trusted him, Kyle had been much too violent in his past for that to ever happen, but Remy at least spoke to him like he was human being, as though he was actually worth something. Most of the advice Remy had given him was the same old rhetoric he had been given in the past, but there was one notable difference.

By necessity, the topic of capture had come up in the Red Team's training sessions. It wasn't something they had liked to talk about and they certainly hoped it would never happen, but there was no harm in being prepared for the worst. During one of those sessions Remy had claimed that the worst part of being held captive wasn't the insults or the beatings, it was the fear that you would never get home again. That fear could break you faster than any torture so it was important to distance yourself from what was happening to you, to remain calm and not get overwhelmed. Kyle had heard that part before from all the military training he had gotten in the past. But the difference here was that where the Program had told him to empty himself, to become stone, Remy told him to fill himself instead. Remy had advised his team to reach down inside themselves and find the one thing they loved most. They were to take that one thing and let it fill them to the point where nothing else mattered, to hold onto it so tightly that the enemy had no room to get into your head.

This advice would have been useless to Kyle in the past. He'd had no good things then to fill himself with, certainly nothing worth fighting for or to get back to. But recently something had changed and in a way that Kyle had never expected. You see, Kyle had a secret he had told no one – he had fallen in love. This was no submissive love filled with pain and glory like Skye had brought out in him. No, Kyle had been shocked to find himself actually in love for real and for the first time in his life. How did he know it was real? Well, because that love had been returned in kind. He used those thoughts now and as promised, they calmed him and filled him with peace.

Kyle thought of her beautiful eyes, golden and like no others he had ever seen. Her sweet smell, so vastly different than Skye who, being Siskan, had never had any scent of his own at all. Kyle had never been truly homosexual, he had just been terribly needy and that had made him receptive to anyone who had dared to show him an ounce of kindness. Kyle had been foolishly trapped into thinking that what Skye had offered him had been honest love. Only now with her, with his precious little one, did he realize what genuine love truly was. He let the thought of her warm him, the feel of her tender kisses, and it demolished any fears that might overtake his reason. Calm now, he could face anything they tried to dish out to him now. He simply would not care.

Sabretooth saw it happen in the boy, how he mastered himself, though he didn't understand the reason. This was something new, Kyle had always been one of those crazed ferals who in times of rage flung himself at his tormentors time and time again as if the next time would be any more successful than the last. Most often it wasn't, something that Victor had always found amusing. This zen-like version of Kyle was both unexpected and perplexing. It would now be up to him to find out how it had been done - the Master would need to know the source of it so that he could break Kyle down, something that was part of becoming part of the family. Sabretooth had no doubt that Kyle would be worthy of that inclusion, he was much too valuable to simply let slip away.

Those concerns were disrupted when the train abruptly shifted, leaning jarringly to one side as the wheels came up off the tracks. Zander's show of rage had been powerful enough to disrupt the whole train, something more troubling to Sabretooth than Kyle's amazing newfound emotional control.

Sabretooth grinned at Kyle. "Stay put, kiddo. Gonna go check that out. Try not to miss me."

Kyle, lost in his peaceful dream, simply did not care.

**(break)**

Logan came awake to the sound of someone screaming, but he wasn't sure if it was real or imagined. His eyes parted but not easily, it was though they had been stuck shut with some sort of film or glue. He could almost hear the crispy sound of breaking crystals as his lashes separated from one another, something unpleasant.

Once they opened the air was quiet, making him guess that perhaps the screams he had heard had been imagined. The thought had no sooner crossed his mind when everything shifted and whatever he had been lying on swayed to the right, tipping him awkwardly towards the wall. As he caught sight of the primed, brick red metal of an unfinished train car, he realized it hadn't been a person screaming, but the wheels below him protesting at being forced to function at such an improper angle. The car he was riding had been tilted badly, his ride was about to derail. What a thing to come awake to.

It was a crazy life he led, he couldn't help but think in that moment as the time seemed to stand momentarily still. So many long years, so many things he had experienced, and yet no matter how many times he came awake, there was always this - the unexpected. An ordinary man woke to his bed, his wife, his breakfast. Coffee, how nice. No, Logan woke to freezing cold truck beds and train cars about to crash. Lord, he needed a vacation. A real one this time. Somewhere warm, like the Bahamas. Somewhere without trains at the very least.

Logan readied for it, for the inevitable crash and spill and noise and fire and blood, but it seemed the train changed its mind and righted itself, the wheels of the opposite side setting back down with a noticeable thud.

Logan barely had time to thank the Lord for small favors when he next heard or rather felt the rumble below him of what could have been explosions of some sort. What little lighting there had been in the car flickered and threatened to go out. Wow, not a derailment, but a nice big fiery start to his new day. Yee haw.

He jerked back to reality when a door slammed nearby and a man ran by him, passing through this car to get to the next. Someone checking on all the trouble, no doubt. The movement caused Logan to turn his head to watch, but the guy had passed too quickly for Logan to catch his face. As the man dashed by, a figure in white suddenly appeared from the opposite side of the car and lashed out at him, like an attack dog suddenly awakened by a prowler.

"Disturbin' my peace!" the apparition declared, revealing that this was in fact some sort of man himself. "Disturbin' my peace!"

The passerby never broke stride, he simply traveled through the car at a rapid pace, slamming the next door as loudly as he had the first. His scent washed over Logan as the closing door pushed the air - gun oil, sweat and panic, but it wasn't someone he knew. It wasn't the one who had abducted him.

There was a pregnant moment then as the pair of men left behind in the car waited for whatever was coming next. The lights flickered for half a moment more and then stayed on steady. If there was an explosion coming, it sure was taking its time. The train settled, going quiet. Moving along, steady as she goes, as if all that weirdness had never happened.

Logan blinked, trying not to laugh. This was too much to process, this rough reentry into the world.

_I'm tipping! _

_No I'm not. _

_I'm exploding! _

_Nope, sorry, wrong again! _

_I'm alone. _

_Nope, strike three! _

_Jeez, make up yer friggin mind already! _

Ah, well. He was clearer than he had been just a moment ago, all the activity was bringing him out of the fog he had been in but he was far from fine. Now that he was facing towards the middle of the car, he could see that like Kyle, his left arm was strapped to a board, an IV dug in there all nice and pretty looking. A quick glance up didn't bring any more good news. He wasn't sure if it was a joke or not, but the bag hanging there had a warning label on it that menaced with the words, "Experimental, Authorized Use Only. Not for Use on Human Test Subjects." Yeah, this day was only getting better and better.

_You deserve this_, came a ghostly voice in his mind and he saw her face, the child he killed on Charles' orders. _You might still get out of this somehow, but you will still have deserved whatever pain they dish out to you and more. _

Logan grunted and gave himself a mental shake. Whatever guilt he still felt, it had no place here. Not now. _Stop playing around, this isn't no time for games. _

It wasn't a joke, he was still burning with fever and his body was heavy, too heavy to do more than just lay there and simply breathe. It wasn't the same as when he had been lying in the truck bed. He wasn't nauseated, just drained of all energy. The thought of it made him wonder idly what had happened to Aiden. The Siskan was nowhere in sight. Not that his eyesight was all that reliable in his current state, but his gut told him that he was alone.

Well, sort of.

"Disturbin' my peace..." his roommate continued to mutter though he was settling down, hunching back down to the floor where he had been before they were both so rudely awakened.

Logan's eyes left the IV bag – it wasn't as though he could do anything about that particular problem at the moment anyhow – and rested on his companion from across the way. He realized that it wasn't that the figure had been dressed in white, he actually **was** white, white from head to toe. Long bleached out hair and a scraggly beard tangled about his head and face, making him look like an old drunk. He wore no clothing beyond a minimal pair of black briefs for his dignity and Logan could see why - fine white hair covered his naked body like fur, providing him with all the cover he needed. Long pointed ears peeked out from all that mess, making him seem like some sort of demented, oversized elf. He might have been rumpled, but he was at least clean, no dirt or filth sullied his hands or feet.

Although this guy had lashed out at the one who had ran by, no actual contact had been made and now Logan saw why. Like Remy and the kids, this car had been halved and made into two holding cells with the walkway in between. Light screens crackled there, keeping them separated and locked in. They were invisible to the naked eye but Logan could still hear them humming there. Regardless of appearances, they were both prisoners.

Logan swallowed, feeling his tongue thick in his parched mouth. He managed to croak, "Who.. Who are you?"

The man glanced up at him with eyes as pale as an Alaskan Malamute. Pale, not pink. He was no albino though he had seemed that way at first glance. "I gots no name no more."

Wolverine attempted a smile, feeling his lips crack as they stretched. He needed a drink and soon, he was too dehydrated in spite of the IV. Still, he tried to set this guy at ease - if he couldn't get water, he would settle for some answers at least. Maybe this guy could help him out with that. "Hey, pal. Everybody has a name or used to."

The man squinted, deeply considering this. "Time passes so strangely here..." he replied, not really answering the question. He seemed dazed, or lost somehow as he continued, "So few faces, so few to call me anything. So, so hungry now..."

Logan swallowed again, damn his uncooperative tongue. It was going to be hard going to keep this guy talking. He rambled like a senile old man and Logan now wondered just how old this guy was. He was about to try another question when he heard the sound of another door slamming, this one outside. He guessed the guy who had run through before was on his way back and he was right. A moment later he was there in the car, coming much more slowly than he had before. Whatever the emergency had been, it was now over.

The man was dressed in military clothing and yes, still carried the guns that Logan had scented on him earlier. Double pistols, one strapped to each leg and of a high caliber. They hadn't been fired, there was no smell of gunpowder here. The man was middle aged, scruffy and heavy set which made his earlier speed seem all the more surprising. His hair was close cropped and brown, his face clean shaven, making him the opposite of Logan's companion. He paid Logan no mind but he did pause to look at the white haired old man. "Sorry, John," he apologized soothingly as he would to a child. "You know I'd never give you no trouble."

"Hungry!" the old man snarled in response, scrabbling a bit with his hands at the barrier that held him. It might have been energized but it apparently wasn't set to injure anyone who touched it. His fingernails clicked against it, talons as long as any Sabretooth might have bragged of.

"Okay, then. Hang on," the man soothed. He went to a small locker that Logan hadn't noticed earlier and opened it. He took out a sealed plastic bin that looked just a little too red. Just as Logan suspected, he lifted out a bloody hunk of raw meat and dumped it into a metal bowl not unlike a weighted dog food bowl. Not the least bit squeamish, he licked his own fingers free of blood before resealing the container, not wanting to make a mess. He returned the container to the locker and walked back to where John waited with eyes alight with expectation. He slid the bowl through an opening and John went at it with gusto, grunting and growling as he devoured his meal.

The man watched him, crossing his arms in amusement. He then looked back and Logan and grinned, showing a mouth full of fangs. His voice was more growly than it had been before the blood as he said, "Don't worry, pal. That isn't one of your little friends – yet. Course it could be later, they keep gettin' all rowdy like that."

Logan squinted at him in confusion but then his eyes widened as the full blood aroma hit him. Whatever John was eating with such enthusiasm, it had once been human.


	4. Chapter 4

(Four)

Logan closed his eyes, not wanting to see John eat whomever that had been. What kind of freakshow operation was this that would be so cavalier about cannibalism? These weren't run of the mill recruiters so it would seem. Perhaps this was more about revenge against himself than filling up their own ranks. If so, was that really so bad? It wasn't like he didn't deserve it, not after what he had done.

Logan heard the man who had served John rummaging around in a closet and Logan was curious enough to see what he was rooting around for. The guy dug out two ugly looking metal collars that Logan knew all too well. These were standard issue shock collars, ones that could be adjusted either to punish or to stun. Ugly things these, and something the X-men would never use as they were most often associated with torture and brutal interrogations. The man noticed Logan watching him and smiled. "For your friends," he said with too much merriment for Logan's liking and then walked back the way he had come, back to where the trouble had started.

_Shit, _Logan couldn't help but think. But there wasn't anything he could do about it now, not in his current condition.

John ate his meal quickly, wolfing the meat down like a dog that hadn't eaten in days. When it was clear he was done, Logan braved another look at his car mate. John was sitting on his haunches, licking stray rivulets of blood from his fingers and cleaning his face like a cat. He reminded Logan of Sabertooth at that moment, a guy he didn't want to think about.

John noticed that he was being watched and sniffed at Logan. "You smell like Bree."

"Well I ain't him," Logan couldn't help but retort irritably. He could tolerate a lot but cannibalism grossed him out to the core. It was an evil deed his half brother Victor had sometimes flaunted, so perhaps that was why.

John laughed softly. "Bree ain't no person, son. Bree is a state of mind. Breehenin."

"Sounds like a load of crap to me," Logan replied not unkindly. It was the sort of half hearted retort that often caused the other to reply with more details. Logan was fishing.

If John was offended by that he gave no sign. He sat up a little taller, bringing his shoulders back and his head up, sniffing at the air dramatically. The posture made him seem even more like an animal and less like a man, his bright white skin and hair gleaming, his lean body taut with hardened muscles. He half closed his eyes, looking all the world like a blissed out drug addict. His voice was scratchy and dreamy as he explained, "Bree is the snow and the trees, it's a clear sky full of stars, them kind you kin only see when there ain't no lights, no cities, no nuthin' out there but the hills and you."

Logan grunted in a disgruntled reply but the truth was he could easily relate. It had been a long time since he had gone totally feral, living out in the wild for days or even months with nothing but his claws and a scratch dug in the ground to sleep in. Cold and bad weather never bothered him much, it was a small hardship in return for being in total communion with nature, for leaving all of his human cares behind. Truth was, if it hadn't been for his family left behind at the Complex, it would have been the forest he had run to this time and not the cabin. The cabin had been a compromise, one that hadn't fully satisfied.

"All of us go Bree eventually, us Lupines," John continued to ramble. "We gots to or we just go mad. Romulus thinks it's crap when I says that but it ain't. He says it's a waste, makin' us go all white and wild. It's only on account that it's been generations since he last went. He just don't remember the feelin' is all. Bastard's overdue, you ask me."

Logan blinked, trying to process that with his drug addled mind. He had been well trained by the military in memory skills and being on so many field missions for the X-men had kept him fairly sharp. He had to remember as much of this freak's ramblings and sort this out so that he would have his wits about him later. Words to remember – Bree, Lupine, and Romulus. None of these were immediately familiar but hey, if John wanted to keep right on rambling, who was Logan to stop him?

"Who's Romulus?" he cautiously asked, trying not to be too leading. He didn't want John to think he was picking him apart even though he was.

John snorted a rough laugh. "He's the One, the First of us... or so he claims. Scent makes it so and he's certainly the oldest of us I ever seen. There ain't nuthin' done with any of us without him knowin' it."

This last was said with a tone of sadness and the look on John's eyes changed to one of deep sorrow. "It wasn't his fault they took me off the Hill, but he's the one who made sure Old Claude found me in the hospital. It was all screamin' and pills and dreamy time till Claude busted us out, took me to the woods and sent me Bree the first time."

Logan grumbled inwardly. Could this guy be any more cryptic? Well, he could at least guess that this Romulus fellow was the boss of this outfit and that he seemed to suffer the typical delusions of grandeur that most folks of his ilk seemed to acquire. Logan had never heard of Claude either but the idea that a freak like this John character might end up in a hospital was of no surprise. It had to be a mental ward John was talking about, of that Logan had no doubt.

The Hill, though, that nagged, bringing with it the familiar beginning of the sort of headache Logan was prone to get when he was remembering something that had been previously wiped clean from his memory by the Weapon X Program or others. Many long years Logan had wandered about with less than half of a functional long term memory, shattered shards of a broken life splintered even more by powerful men who had never asked for the right to go in there but who had gone just the same. The mess had more or less been sorted out a few years back by a powerful telepath in Jael's employ who had gone into his head looking for something else but who had opened a crapload of previously locked doors along the way. It had been done crudely but it had still been effective. Ever since then certain triggers could pop Logan back to something long forgotten, stuff he hadn't even realized he had known. An odd flavor, a scrap of music, a certain turn of phrase. The Hill. It was familiar in a way Logan didn't want to think about just yet. There were many hills in the world, right?

"I don't follow you, old man," Logan replied, finding a lot of this unclear and hoping for more. "The Hill? Bree? Maybe you need to stop eatin' what they're feeding you."

John sat back on his haunches, his shoulders slumping now, but not from defeat. He was simply relaxing. "When's the last time you ran, son? I can see it in yer eyes. The woods."

Logan was honest as he answered, "Been many long months and it didn't last."

"Then you never went fully Bree," John corrected. "Maybe you should, you know? You have so much pain in yer eyes. Yer just itchin' to bust loose. Maybe this time fer good, or at least long enough fer the change."

"The change?"

John stroked a hand over his scraggly white hair and coarse beard. "I didn't look much different from you once. When I was up on the Hill before the screamin'. Man," he said with a short laugh. "I haven't thought of that place in so long and here I've already mentioned in twice in as many minutes."

"What's the Hill?"

John's rambling reply was startling to say the least. He said, "The Hill was the big house where I was born. Canadian snow, Alberta summer. Up high, surrounded by the woods. I kin still sees the front of it - tall white pillars, them long windows that go from top to bottom. The barn with the horses. Thomas the grumpy old groundskeeper. Ole Cook Jefferies with his apple pies. Best damn pies you ever tasted. They sure don't make 'em like that no more."

Canada. The Hill. Jeffries. Pies. Logan shut his eyes and grunted as a bright hot lance of pain slammed him right in between the eyes, this one hard and real. It was always like that, the volcanic eruption of memories spewing back up from the depths in a chunk too big to fully digest in one sitting. He had known a big house himself, one that looked just as John had described. Thomas the grumpy groundskeeper who complained about everything. There had been a cook as well named Jeffries, one who had baked the same sort of marvelous pies. He could see the kitchen, the big brick oven. His mouth watered at the memory of those pies, easily the best he had ever had in his long life. And yes, Jeffries with his long mustache and beard.

John next spoke the same thought, even as it blazed through Logan's mind like a fire gone out of control. "Jeffries," he was laughing as he mused. His voice was scratchy but growing stronger with each word, like a man who hadn't spoken in a long time. Like he was dusting off his vocal cords after so little use. "I used to ask him how he never got any of that beard in the food and he would tell me how Hattie had glued it on fast."

Logan's stomach swirled and he tried not to heave. This was madness. Hattie. Jeffries' wife and the head housekeeper for the Hill, the big house where he grew up. No personnel file ever could have provided these details, of that Logan was certain. Not unless someone was ripping it from his mind even as he lay here. Maybe this guy was a telepath? There was no law that said that a mutant could hold only one power, Logan had known several who were multi-talented. And dangerous. He had to be careful, all of his alarm bells were now ringing.

"They didn't let me stay..." John continued, his voice growing sad. If he noticed Logan's distress, he gave no sign. "I got angry at my mother, you see. She liked the butter candy and I wanted some but she wouldn't give me any. Said I'd had enough already. I got so angry and then... I hurt her."

Logan's head was reeling. The memory of Jeffries' pies vanished, replaced by the sweet bliss of butter candy. He was remembering the flavor of it with the same vividness of that kitchen. Not that he needed much reminding. All his long life, given a choice for sweets, Logan would go for butterscotch hard candy every time. Lifesavers, Worthers Original, dollar a bag cheapies, he wasn't that picky. He was never without it for long. It wasn't until his memories had been restored by Jael's powerful telepath that he realized where that affinity had come from. It had been a gift from his mother.

Now Logan knew this had to be a set up. There were just too many coincidences here. These guys must have gotten some dirt on him from Jael or someone else and they were trying to use it against him somehow, to earn his trust perhaps. He turned to John to say something nasty in reply but what he saw next stopped him cold.

John had his skinny white arms out and was looking at his hands with a mixture of sadness and wonder. His fingers ended in sick looking talons on a par with Sabretooth's own, but on top of that, he had extended out three long bone claws on his left hand, the same as Logan had sleeping in his own arms. He touched them lightly with his right hand, mourning softly, "I tried to ask her where they had come from...but she never did say. They couldn't get me out of the house fast enough. They told everyone I had died."

Logan was silent, his rage simmering. Claws or not, this had to be bullshit, right? John kept Logan's doubts going even as he next confirmed what Logan had thought he was driving at.

"I came back, " John said, his voice turning bitter. "Many years later, after I had turned Breehenan I saw the tombstone there. 'John Howlett', it said. 'Beloved son, lost before his time'. What a load of crap. They had wanted me gone and so I was."

Logan snorted at that. He did recall the stone marker, that he could not deny. He had been a small boy playing outside in the vast garden which had included a small treed cemetery. The tombstone had been among many others there. When he had asked his father about it, his father had simply replied that Logan had once had an older brother that had died before he had been born. It had meant nothing to Logan then but it meant something now. This loser was claiming to be his older, long lost brother. A load of crap indeed.

"So how did you end up here?" Logan asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice as he changed the subject. They had discussed the Hill long enough as far as he was concerned.

"I ran," John answered simply. "Claude stayed with me a spell at first and then he moved on as well. We don't keep such good company fer long, us Lupines. Though I suspect you know that well enough already.

"He taught me things 'fore he left me. Said his name was really Claudius though they didn't call him that no more. He was really old, but not as old as Romulus. Said that he was my ancestor and that he was gonna help me. His hair was as white as mine is now, though mine wasn't yet white then. Said he was like me, or what I should be – a Breehenin. It's an old word that means, 'those who shun all people.' One of the wild. I wasn't the first of this kind and I wasn't going to be the last.

"He said I was like him and that I could find my peace if I'd only go live out in the woods. I could survive there and my hair would turn white like his. He said I'd find a special kind of peace out there called the Frey. It was the first time I'd heard these words, but I knew them to be true as soon as I heard them. I'd always known when people were lying to me. He wasn't.

"He helped me to break out of the hospital and all he'd said came true. I don't much care what goin' Bree is, maybe it's some kind of Spirit walk or racial memory, but I can't never go back to bein' what I was before. I don't relate well with people no more. Their ways and violence just confuse and frustrate me."

Logan grunted, relating to that, but he was hoping John would continue and he did. "I traveled all around the world, sometimes with other folks, sometimes on my own. I stowed away on ships, jumped up on trains. I've roamed the world, lived different lives. Even lived with Islamic nomads once. They taught me a kind of spirituality. I don't know if I believe in God or not, but if He is real and made us Lupine, then I think He meant fer us to be wild and free. After that when I was alone in the snow, I sensed Him all around me. This was where He wanted me to be. And it's there that I'm the most at peace."

"You never had a family?"

John laughed. "I been with many women, yes, but it never seemed to really work out. I can't seem to stay in any one place long enough. That's what frustrates Romulus so much. He thinks he kin collect us like fireflies in a jar, draw us all together inta some kind of pack, but he's had so much trouble with me. I keep gittin' out and he keeps chasin' me.

"Romulus caught up with me in Alaska this time. He likes ta keeps me clean and shaved, so I guess it'll be a trimmin' later for me. Wants me to return to civilization. It won't work. I'll just git out again first chance I get. He's done this time and time again but I always get back out. I ain't the first one of us Bree he's tried to coax back to humanity but I am the most stubborn."

"Where is he takin' us?" Logan wanted to know.

"Depends. Where'd he get you?" John asked back as a way of figuring out where they both were right now.

"Maine."

John nodded to himself. "It'll be the Diamond then. He's got places all over but I think he likes that one best. Got the most of us Lupines there. That's okay, Diamond is the easiest place to break out from."

That last comment made Logan happy but he wanted to know, "What is this Lupine?"

"Romulus thinks of us as pack, those of us that are the most related. Most of us gots the same traits – feral senses, claws, the healin'. If he took you then he thinks yer close, you smell close anyhow," John finished casually as if he had no clue who Logan really was, something the X-man did not believe for one minute.

"If Romulus is so powerful how come I haven't heard of him?"

John just laughed. "Romulus is one of them type of fellows that hide behind everyone else. He don't ever stick around any one place too long. He's got all these trains, you know? Night Trains just like this one."

Logan grunted. That made sense. It wouldn't be the first time some shady guy got the idea that staying put would be bad for his health. Logan had seen a few fellows like that before including one baddie who never once left his private jet. That had been one really hard guy to catch up with. Hopefully this Romulus character wouldn't be as difficult to manage, now that Logan knew this secret.

"Romulus is up to something this time," John muttered, keeping his voice low. "He's been gatherin' more of us than usual, even the big mean ones he usually leaves alone."

That gave Logan pause, he knew far too many men like that he would rather not face, not weakened like he was right now. "Any ones you know in particular?"

Logan's questioned was never answered. John stood up taller and began to howl in anticipation. He had noticed what Logan had not – the train was slowing, coming to a stop. They had reached the Diamond.

**(break)**

The Lucky Dragon still hovered over Logan's cabin but that didn't mean its occupants were doing nothing. While they waited for some clue as to where they should head next, they began to process some of the evidence they had taken from the white truck left behind at the train station.

There was a lot to go through so Rogue and Jean began with the simpler things first. They were looking over some of the leftover food debris from the truck owner's quick fast food breakfast. The amount of trash suggested there had been at least two people, there were two coffee cups and another for a cold drink. The wax paper cup from the cold drink was loaded with prints, these guys hadn't even tried to hide them. Rogue was using the dusting powder and since she was still new to this, was making quite the mess.

The X-men did have some investigative teams back home that could have done this but the team didn't want to expose them to the virus that Warren had brought on board. It was also faster if they did the preliminary work themselves instead of bringing the whole collection of evidence back to Arizona - assuming they didn't screw up the tests of course.

They had received some training for this in the past. Scott and some of the other senior staff at the Complex had decided the afore mentioned professionals would teach the others in small classes and clinics. It made sense for as many people as possible who did field work to learn not only what to collect from a scene, but also how to extract the data from what they had gathered. A few clinics on forensics had the X-men branching out into other useful areas as well. Forensic accounting, building engineering, city planning and computer labs had also been added to the list of handy skills. It had all come in handy quickly when they were forced to go into risky situations in cities and underground sewers. The clinics had been useful even if it only meant paying more attention to a scene when you happened upon one. Their evidence collection was now becoming more fruitful, less was being overlooked. Like Logan had been teaching Aiden out in the snow, any site of violent action has a story to tell if you have the eyes and ears to hear it. They were trying to listen now.

Of course they would never be as skilled as the many professionals who actually did this daily for a living. Right now Rogue was struggling to get the fast food cup to give up its secrets. Unfortunately all she was doing was getting red Dragon's Blood powder all over her uniform.

"Use less powder on the brush," Seth suggested. His pale white face was up on the Main screen for all to see. Fallen had called him up from Arizona so that he could offer his assistance with what they collected, if anything. Seth wasn't a field operative, but he had reviewed many of the classes on his own and like Kimble, had a near perfect memory. He had a voracious appetite for learning new things and he had kept himself busy with these subjects and many others.

The current plan was that Rogue would lift the latent finger prints from the cup and then send them to Seth using an electronic print scanner that they had on board. The scanner had been expensive and something of an extravagance when they had first purchased it, but now they were excited and happy to give it some use. Seth would then run the prints through the big computer database at the Complex.

"Why?" Bobby joked playfully at Seth's attempt at encouragement. "She looks good in red."

Bobby was back to reclining across the seats again. He had the plate of leftover brownies from the cabin and was continuing his breakfast of champions there. For him it would have been too much of a crime to have left such a valuable food source behind to go stale.

Jean stole one of the brownies and took a bite before mumbling happily, "Damn these are good. Kimble can cook for me anytime." She was familiar with this, having once lived in an apartment next to his. Kimble had often babysat her children and she was somewhat fond of the Siskan. Her enjoyment of Kimble's culinary arts didn't stop her from gently chiding Bobby, "Don't you have anything better to do than pick on Rogue? You could be helping, you know."

Bobby just laughed around a mouthful of chocolate. "Who am I to interfere with her skills training? Besides it could be worse. There was this one episode of CSI..."

"Your chatter ain't helpin'," Rogue complained, interrupting. She was smiling now, her grin wide with triumph as she successfully lifted her first print and lay it on the scanner.

Bobby continued unabated. "...they had to print this dead girl but she'd been in the water and she was all bloated and gross. Her fingers were too wet to print so they actually cut her fingertips off, removed the skin and put them on one of the investigators fingertips so they could roll the prints. It was great."

Rogue just glared at her obnoxious teammate, but she was still smiling. "What part of your chatter not helpin' did ya not understand?"

He chuckled and just wiggled his fingers at her. They were covered with crumbs and smelling of chocolate.

"You've had enough of these I think," Jean said to that and used the opportunity to snag the now much emptier plate from where he had laid it on his chest.

"Hey!" he complained but he was laughing. He was full now and had simply been killing time. He let the girls have it without a fight.

"I got a match on the print," Seth interrupted, his voice filled with surprise.

He wasn't the only one who was shocked. Scott looked at the screen, his arms folded across his chest. "That was awfully fast. Are you sure you ran that right?" Most of the time it took hours to match a print, sometime even days.

"Yeah," Seth replied, his brow creased with worry. "Because this was Logan, well, I thought it might be best if I ran it by the Blue 26 Sheets first."

Scott sighed, this was going from bad to worse. The Blue 26 Sheets were the list of the country's most wanted mutants, the ones that the general public feared the most. Murderers and terrorists mostly, they were not common criminals. Scott was not worried that the match would trigger a government response. Seth had long ago broken in to most of the official and most secret databases and "mirrored" them on his own separate computer system at the Complex, a massive database affectionately dubbed the Vault. The Vault was housed in its own separate private room, was not online accessible, and was encrypted to the hilt besides. No one from the outside could break into it and copy it as Seth himself had done to theirs. All information had to be manually removed or added. Seth was in the room itself, working there as he assisted the team. Seth, ever adept at multi-tasking, had two laptops open as he worked, plus had the Vault open and active on a third screen as well. Seth was using memory sticks to move the tests and results back and forth. He did this more quickly than most, he had helped Hank to set this elaborate and most valuable system up. The Blue Sheets had been mentioned in Logan's field reports that had been left at the cabin so it was ominous for them to have come up again.

"The Blue 26 Sheets only have twenty names on them right now so the print came right up," Seth explained. He was still surprised nonetheless.

"Who is our winner?" Scott wanted to know. He was inwardly pleased this had gone so quickly. He was restless, his team needed something to do here.

"Hans Bergman," Seth replied and posted up the file on the large screen for them all to see.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Bobby complained. It wasn't the excessive amount of brownies he had consumed, it was what he was reading.

Hans had been a busy boy over the years, his sheet was long and detailed. He had started out small – money laundering, extortion, petty theft – and then gradually moved up to kidnapping, murder and terrorism. Turned out he had a few side projects along the way - lewd acts with a minor, statutory rape, sexual assault and kidnapping of a minor with intent to force the child into the sex trade. It seemed Hans was a Class One teleporter. That meant he could not only teleport himself or himself with a significant number of passengers, he could also transport good sized vehicles. He had reportedly stolen an American army tank just for kicks and then later a luxury liner from an Arab sheik which he returned for an alleged twenty million dollars ransom. He had on another occasion stolen a school bus filled with preteens on it, moved them over international borders from the United States to Mexico, and then sold all of its precious cargo into prostitution, boys and girls alike. He had made some sweet money on that deal as well. Not all of the kids were recovered, but the ones that had were in pretty bad shape. This guy was a walking nightmare.

"Hans also spent some time with the Outkasts," Seth reported next, mentioning a powerful mutant organization that the X-men had run into not all that long ago. When Jael had attacked the X-men at the Arizona Complex, playing his precious Game, the Outkasts had come along and given the X-men an assist, an alliance that had been temporary only. The Outkasts were criminals who only acted when it was in their best interests. They normally manipulated the markets and the political workings of states and governments to maximize their profits. They were all about the money.

"Let's keep those prints coming," Scott ordered gently. "Maybe we'll get lucky again."

Rogue nodded and took the second cup. Using the brush she discovered another print and rolled it, this time more skillfully. She was a fast learner, so she was.

"We'll make a CSI out of you yet," Scott praised, happy to see her skills increase.

"Can't we just pay someone to do this for us?" she jokingly protested, but it was all bluff. Now that she had finally figured out how to do this, it was actually kind of fun. It certainly wasn't boring. She liked to learn new things and this was better than simply beating the snot out of someone. She lay it on the scanner and sent it through to Seth.

Seth nodded that he had received it, but wasn't quite done with Hans yet. He read off more of the guy's file. "Seems that Butch Madison, the leader of the Outkasts, once said that Hans was so bad he would be willing to pay the reward for his capture out of his own pocket if he was ever caught."

"So hard to find good help these days," Hank couldn't help but joke. He had been working on Gryfon's labs but was still listening to all that was being said upstairs.

"Why didn't he just turn him in himself?" Rogue complained. "If the guy was working for him it should have been easy."

"They did eventually boot him out," Seth replied. "But not before he absconded with a million or ten from the accounts."

"Why would anybody want a guy like that on their team?" Bobby questioned this time.

"Now that is the million dollar question."

"This guy will be hard to find," Hank lamented. Teleporters unfortunately were harder to track than most other mutants. They could come and go in unpredictable ways and some could cross large distances quickly. "Not to mention that a Class One teleporter like Hans could have moved the Dragon 2 quite easily. We could assume that was his reason for being there."

"Yes, but how would they have known know about it? It should have been cloaked," Fallen countered.

"Maybe they have spies," Jean replied ominously. It wasn't like they hadn't been infiltrated before.

"Maybe Remy and the boys did something stupid," Rogue offered. "Maybe they left the Dragon 2 uncloaked by mistake."

"Remy wouldn't do that," Hank was quick to challenge. "That ship is his baby. He would never put it at risk."

Seth interrupted. "Got a match on the other print. It's not Hans but it is from the Blue Sheets as well. Says here it's from an unidentified male and a mutant but there's no other details listed besides his crimes." Seth then went on to report that this unidentified person was wanted for murder, hate crimes, terrorism, extortion, and kidnapping with a smattering of arms dealing thrown in there for a little diversity. At least he hadn't stolen any small children. That they knew of anyhow.

"Nice guy. We can use the drink straws to try for DNA to help narrow it down even more," Scott suggested, happy that at least they weren't coming up blank. "Hank can also type and cross the blood we sampled."

While not entirely legal, Hank had been busy back home compiling a DNA database of known mutants, some of them criminals. This database had once been larger, but was quite smaller now that the Game was over. The Game was the nickname given to describe the big showdown with Jael out on the Arizona Complex. Jael had been collecting Siskans as part of a sick scavenger hunt, a game that had ultimately involved three large armies of mutants -– the X-men, Jael's terrorists and those Outkasts who had come to the X-men's aid. The fight had been quick and deadly with the ensuing slaughter drastically reducing the number of mutants in the world. Jael's failed ambition had been costly. Even now, no one had an accurate body count in hand, but it was thought that there were only about five or six hundred known mutants remaining in the entire world. This meant that the database which Hank had compiled could be small enough for that quick match – assuming they had something to compare with. Hank knew there was no way he had tagged everyone, that was impossible. Still couldn't hurt to try.

"Toss the samples down the stairs as gently as you can," Hank directed. "I don't want anyone getting close to Warren or myself. You might not have been infected in the short contact you had with us, let's not make it worse."

Rogue nodded and grabbed the samples, sorting through them before going to the opening for the lower level stairs. Most of them were swabs so there wasn't much glass to break. She wrapped the collected evidence bags in towels from the upstairs lav and gently tossed them down to where Hank was already waiting for her.

Meanwhile, Bobby was still impatient. "What does all this mean? I mean, who is Logan mixed up with this time? These are some serious guys."

"Logan's last mission put him in contact with one of Jael's old henchmen," Scott replied, trying not to dole out too many details. He didn't want the others to know the full extent of what Wolverine had been asked to do if they didn't absolutely have to. "We know a lot of these guys change allegiances, we could be dealing with a whole new crew of really bad guys, folks. We need to find our boys. This is as bad as it gets."

**(break)**

Aiden came awake with a start at the sound of an ominous metallic click right next to his ear. Cold metal chilled his neck and warm hands retreated quickly but not before Aiden snatched at one wrist in a grip tight enough to threaten more than simple bruising. "Not szo faszt, you!" he snarled, instantly angry. He didn't have to be a genius to know he was being restrained in some way. He disliked being contained and was inclined to do something about it. Something painful if needs be.

The person whom Aiden had captured did not answer to the threat, he merely trembled in Aiden's grasp as if waiting for someone to come to his aid, his eyes turned away in shame. Aiden didn't have to guess why. This was no man, but a child barely out of his sixteenth year at best, this was no shot caller. The kid had some muscle on him and a bit of stubble on his chin, but that was all. The denim coveralls he wore did nothing to make him look any more menacing than a scraggly wolf pup barely off the teat.

"I'd let him go if I were you," came a voice from a short distance away, the person the poor pathetic child was no doubt awaiting assistance from. "That's a shock collar around your neck. Nasty but effective, especially since you seem so – _**sensitive **_– to electricity."

Aiden turned his head to look at the speaker, unable to stop a low growl of fury from leaking out of his tightly clenched teeth. He was looking at Daken, a man he was no longer finding so amusing. Aiden was a bit disoriented from such an abrupt awakening but not enough that he couldn't see that while the train was no longer moving, they hadn't yet disembarked. There might yet be a chance to salvage this.

Aiden let the man know he was done fooling around by offering a threat of his own, "Take it off or I will break disz kid'sz arm in too many plazes for you to fix."

Daken just shrugged. "Break it as many times as you like. He's no healer. It will be his punishment for being stupid enough to get caught. Besides it would give me an excuse to show you just how effective these collars can be."

Aiden's prisoner didn't like the sound of that. He was young and not the seasoned warrior that Daken was. Not only did he not want his arm broken but, he would also likely share the effects of the collar being activated, another unpleasant thought. He growled in protest but Daken was unflinching.

Aiden paused, his mind inwardly loud as he considered his options. He really didn't want to hurt the lad, it wasn't in his nature to abuse children, but at the same time Daken's lack of caring was not being faked, his shine testified easily to that. The man really could care less about what happened to his youthful comrade and he was more than willing to call Aiden's bluff. Aiden guessed that that was the way they rolled around here, no one looking out for anyone else. That was something he was familiar with, it had been like that back in the Gladiator holding pens as well. Back then Aiden had earned his place by beating the snot out of anyone weaker than himself until everyone pretty much left him alone. If it worked there, it probably worked here. Sometimes, one just needed a example and while Aiden hated to injure needlessly, his teammates were in trouble. Given the choice, his own people would come first.

Aiden just smiled his wicked Gladiator's smile and rolled his body in one fluid movement, gracefully arcing around and twisting his startled victim up close, the man's back now against Aiden's front, cheek to cheek now, facing Daken, the boss. Aiden used the last reserves of his energy to create a single spike in his right hand, one just large enough to make an effective weapon. He jabbed the sharp tip of it into his prisoner's neck, making sure to draw blood. It earned him a pleasant scream of real pain from his prisoner, but one not loud enough to hide his own words. "Take ze collar off! Now! I won't be aszkin' twize!" he snarled through tightly clenched teeth. Maybe Daken would care more about a fatality than he would mere broken bones. Either way, Aiden wasn't going to go down without a fight.

Daken smiled with real pleasure. "Fine. Let's see how quickly you learn." He showed Aiden a small metal box and pressed a button there.

Aiden braced himself for the coming shock, ready to in fact murder the youth in his arms with the spike, jolt or no jolt, vowing to not let this twerp get the upper hand again if he could help it. Alas though, Daken was a man of his word, just not quite the way Aiden had expected.

"Jeez Louisze mutherfuck!" Kimble howled abruptly, instantly letting Aiden know to his regret that he hadn't been the only one collared. Damn. Kimble thrashed hard enough from the shock that he involuntarily scored Aiden's left calf with his toe claws. Kimble had been wearing boots against the snow and cold, but his claws were sharp enough to cut through most anything, including his own boots and then Aiden's jeans as well. "What the goddamn hell?!" he continued to shriek as he convulsed from the unwelcome energy coursing through his body, his voice hoarse with shock and pain. "Fuck! Fuck! Shit!"

Aiden ignored the pain in his leg but released his prisoner without question, his eyes never leaving Daken's own. The frightened youth scrabbled away from his captor in a panic, holding a hand against the cut in his neck. Aiden hadn't figured that Kimble would have been outfitted as well and it had cost him. He could never stand Kimble's pain and that was never going to change.

"Good boy," Daken praised, holding Aiden's furious gaze quite comfortably. He took his finger off the shock button on the controller, releasing Kimble, and gestured at the pilot. "Your little friend has quite a mouth. He doesn't kiss you with it, does he? Or maybe you just like things a little _**dirty**_."

"You 'ave no idea," Aiden volleyed back with a humorless smile, an automatic reply based more on habit than out of play. As much as he liked a little flirtation, he wasn't enjoying Kimble's continuing sobs of pain. Not that he needed the noise to let him know Kimble was in a bad way, his vibrations of agony were much too strong to have come from such a small shock alone. One quick glance showed that Kimble was still deeply injured from what had transpired earlier during their escape attempt, his hands were black and gooey, still melted.

"It would be my personal pleasure to find out just how much," Daken replied to Aiden's tease with some humor though it never reached his cold hard eyes. "But for now there is work to be done." He waved the box again. "One wrong move and this time, it won't be such a little taste for your friend, but the whole dish. Understand?"

Daken didn't wait for Aiden's reply, he didn't need it. Instead he stood, giving the cell across from the two Siskans his full attention. Aiden's eyes followed him and he silenced a cry of dismay. His former prisoner hadn't been the only workers here giving Daken a hand. Here were two more men, youths not much older than the first had been but ferals and healers both judging from the brightness of their shines. They were huffing and puffing a bit as they began carrying out Aiden's teammates one by one. From the look of things, the kids were still all out cold from whatever gas had been used earlier. Not a one of them moved in protest against being so manhandled, but dangled there limply like so much dead meat. If it hadn't been for Aiden's ability to see their shines still twinkling brightly enough, he might have feared the worst. At the moment all he was was getting even more pissed off.

"What you want wit usz, eh?" he questioned sharply. "What we do to you zat you treat chil'ren disz way?!"

Daken looked back over his shoulder. "What makes you think this has anything at all to do with you?" he replied enigmatically and with a wry grin, simply walked out of the train car and stood near the doorway, barking orders to the men outside hauling Aiden's friends away.

"Fucker!" Aiden hissed to himself, letting his anger get the better of him. He didn't think his words would invoke any retaliation, not as long as he stayed as he was.

"Maybe... maybe yous... ought nots ta be... antagonizin' him no mores..." Kimble suggested weakly from behind him, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

Aiden dared to turn over. He doubted Daken would punish him for it since it moved him further away from the activity instead of closer and he was right. No further shocks were coming. He gently rubbed his nose against Kimble's own with affection. "You okay, my luv?" he whispered, keeping this private. "Szo szorry, what 'e do."

"Not really, noes," Kimble answered, though he did manage a short laugh to set Aiden at ease. He wasn't angry with his lover for inciting Daken's use of the collar. He had an idea that the guy would have tested it one way or another, and well, Aiden wasn't the most patient creature even on a good day.

Aiden looked down at Kimble's hands and couldn't quite suppress a cry of remorse. They were both blackened, some of the fingers fused together, partially melted from the energy overload of using his sword against the train car's containment barrier. Aiden had been similarly burned once before and the pain had been ugly, horrible. He knew what this felt like and it was the worst feeling knowing that Kimble was now suffering so similarly. "My luv!" he whispered hoarsely, his eyes quickly wet with tears.

"Don't worry nones abouts it," Kimble said, trying to keep Aiden from feeling too guilty about it. "Zander ain't always gots the best idears about things, is all."

"It wasz sztill a good try," Aiden replied, still wanting to give credit where it was due. The escape attempt had almost worked after all. It had been better than just lying down and taking it. Aiden was still Gladiator enough to think this way and he couldn't hide it.

"Boss," one of the workers called out, getting Daken's attention and Aiden's as well.

Daken walked back in, his body giving off an attitude of one not wanting to be disturbed by anything meaningless. This had better be good. "What?"

"Look at this," the man answered. He had Julien on his back and was holding him partially upright, a motion stopped in mid-movement. "This one has a restraining collar on."

Daken frowned and squatted down, all the better to get a closer look. He flicked it with a finger, recognizing it as Stark-tech for sure, but it was older, an outdated model no one used anymore. They were too easily hacked or picked, too easy to escape from. He glanced at Aiden, knowing the Siskans were watching him. "Why does he wear this, I wonder?" he asked rhetorically. "Is this mere skeleton of a boy really so fearsome?"

Both Siskans were silent though they knew the answer well enough. When Jason Frost had gathered his mutant slaves, some of the ones he had netted up were simply too powerful to be cowed by fiery sermons and whippings alone. Jason had come by a few of these collars and had been happy to use them where needed. While most of the kids that had been forced to wear them protested the restraints and were happy enough to let the X-men remove them once they had been freed, Julien had been the exception to this rule.

Julien feared his powerful, energy producing mutation and with good reason. The murder of his stepfather still haunted him. It had been an act of self defense, the guy had just smashed his poor left hand to bits with a hammer and was about to do the same to the other. Julien had charged the hammer without thinking, the explosion enough to prove fatal to the man holding it. In Julien's mind the fact that it had been in self defense still didn't justify the horrible bloody sin he had committed in taking the man's life. It had been quick and horrible and something the lad could never forget, no matter how much time had passed since. Julien remained vigorously opposed to the collar's removal and the X-men had been biding their time, hoping he would overcome his fears now that he was in a healing environment. They wouldn't force it on him.

"He's not the only one worth looking at," the man added, nodding his head at Grace. "This other smells of blood and not her monthly like the purple girl."

Daken reached over and untied the scarf from her neck. He leaned closer, sniffing deeply and not trying to hide it. He unzipped her jacket and laughed softly at what he saw there, slipping one hand into her bra. Aiden growled, he couldn't help it. It was too intimate a gesture.

Daken looked back at him, his eyes merry. "Don't you worry," he teased. "I am saving all my attentions for you, dearest. I wouldn't dream of wasting them on anyone else, not even this lovely."

He then turned back to the girl. He opened her coat and yanked up her shirt, wanting more than the quick feel he had copped earlier. "Oh, my. What do we have here?" He looked back at Aiden, smiling. "Now who could have done such a thing to this poor girl? It certainly wasn't me."

Aiden had no idea what the guy was talking about and beyond the fact that he could see part of Grace's expensive black lace bra, was too far away to get a good luck at what had supposedly been exposed. It crossed his mind that this was something being faked, but there were colors in both of their shines now. The men had been excited by the smell of blood. "First so skinny a lad, collared no less. Now this poor young girl, her virginity long since departed, has been recently clawed by some fearsome beast. The first two boys we took out smelled of alcohol use and tobacco as well. You don't seem to be keeping very good watch over these young charges, my friends. Well, fear not. We'll be taking good care of them now. At least better than you anyhow."

Aiden snorted rough laughter at that. "If disz recruitment, you 'ave ze really stranje way of askin', non? Nobody ever got won over by ze szword."

Daken just shook his head as he set Grace's shirt back to rights. Her breasts, lovely as they were, covered in both scratches and the sort of lingerie he had always enjoyed, weren't what he was interested in at the moment. "You'd be surprised how easy it can be to tip the mind of a child, especially when they so often doubt they are on the right side."

"Desze chil'ren know 'oo and what zey fight for," Aiden boasted easily, confident in both Gambit's training and the righteousness of Xavier's convictions. At least the X-men had never kidnapped a child to bring them over to their side. Their message was too obvious for them not to need to.

"We'll see, we'll see," Daken replied, having some confidence of his own. "In the meantime, we'll get you all settled."

Daken gestured to the men helping to load the kids out and two more of them came for the Siskans, helping them to their feet. Kimble resisted being handled, if he was going to be lugged, he wanted Aiden to do it. When the men wouldn't let him go, Zander took his place and made his wants known a bit more forcefully, thrashing and biting at those he could reach.

"Fuckers!" Zander snarled at them, his gravelly voice imposing even if he was seriously injured. "Git yer fuckin' paws offa me!"

"Let the pretty one take his lover," Daken allowed, dismissing them impatiently with a wave of his hand. All he cared about was getting the train emptied. There were fun activities planned for later that he was eager to take part in and this was taking too long.

Aiden took Kimble gratefully, one arm over his shoulders and another around Kimble's slender waist, mindful of his damaged hands, not even complaining when the taller pilot sagged against him heavily. It wasn't going to be an easy job to do this, Aiden was almost as low on power as Zander was and it effected his strength, if not his spirits. Aiden's legs were shaking and not the least bit steady. "Disz way, my luv," he teased Kimble gently, putting up his bravest face. "Mebbe zey 'ave tea and cookiesz at ze end, eh?"

Aiden's playing around was hiding how nervous he really was. It wasn't just the mess he was in so much as he wasn't so comfortable having the Punisher so close. Truth be told, the guy made him uneasy. He hoped that Zander would never turn on him but you never knew. The pilot's hands were a mess, still so badly burned, and you could never be sure how a Siskan in that kind of pain might react to something unexpected.

"More fun than anyone deserves," Zander complained in his low growl but his voice was lighter now than before, or as light as it ever got in a situation like this. He was playing along, fumbling with his feet to even get some kind of footing. He was weak now, as shaky as Kimble ever was drunk, but his eyes were everywhere, taking in as much as he could about their surroundings.

The pair shambled clumsily out of the train car, their guards trailing close. Aiden hissed a complaint the moment the frozen air hit him outside. He was topless now and they hadn't traveled far enough in the train to get away from the snow. Both of the Siskans' breath came out in frosty plumes, making Aiden swear it was colder here than when they were at Logan's cabin. Where the heck were they? He could see they were still in the trees as well, the smell of pine was wafting off of what looked to be an endless forest going off into the distance for miles. Huge snow banks lay blanketing their trunks, making escape that way hazardous at best and suicidal at worst. They would likely freeze to death before they got very far.

A problem for later. For now, Aiden was simply grateful he wouldn't have to carry Zander any great distance to shelter, the train tracks were only a few yards from a squat, flat roofed building that looked too small to house anything so sinister as a group of guys who liked to kidnap children out of the snow. But then he knew that looks could be deceiving, the Complex back home had more underground levels than it did above and he suspected that this building did as well.

The closer they came to the nearby building, the more Aiden could hear something he disliked just as much as the cold - the barking of guard dogs. Belle aside, Aiden still hadn't fully overcome his intense aversion to having the furry beasts as his adversaries. He could only hope that when they got out of here – and he was fully confident that they would somehow – that the dogs would still be in their pens, safe and sound.

The door that Aiden and his precious cargo were led through opened onto a long and empty looking hallway, but that was the only view they got before they were next herded into a nearby stairwell. Just like home, Aiden couldn't help but think. Stair and stairs and more stairs. Down and down they went, Aiden doing his best to keep poor sloppy Zander on his feet, something of a challenge as his own shaky legs weren't any steadier for the exercise. The last thing he wanted was for them both to go tumbling down that many flights of stairs.

They were not alone. The two guards were joined by two more, the quartet now moving with a pair ahead of the boys and a pair behind. As if they could go anywhere with the Siskans both being so weak. Every two risings the descending prisoners were halted by additional guards waiting there. Passwords were given, badges checked.

Aiden and Zander met each other's eyes often as these exchanges were made. Sometimes the conversations they overheard took place in English, but most times not. This was an international outfit it seemed or so they were being led to think it was. Siskan Courtesans by their nature had a voracious appetite and capacity for learning, a side effect of short attention spans and an overwhelming desire to please. One of the many classes this particular pair of Siskans had taken back home were Language Skills. Aiden had flubbed up on the Japanese Daken had spoken earlier today, the pair simply hadn't gotten around to taking to that course just yet, but here now was familiar German and French. They were co-conspirators, this pair of artificial beings with overly bright brains. These were clues that Remy had taught them to recognize for future use. They pretended not to understand of course but they had followed the conversations perfectly well. So far, at least, they didn't learn much beyond passwords but with their near perfect recall, they were stored away just the same.

Another clue they both had duly noted was that almost all of these men guarding the way down had the same bright shines that Daken had. They sniffed at the prisoners and were all puzzled by the Siskans' lack of scent, especially with Zander's damaged hands. They were melted, yet didn't smell charred. It confused them though the pair was still marched along quickly enough without much more inspection than these casual gestures. These guys may have been guards, but they were not men who were trusted enough to be given answers to any of the questions they may have asked. Rank and file, it was evident here.

When the Siskans made the sixth landing down, their escorts finally had them leave the stairs and exit to a hallway on the right. Aiden went right to work, trying to maintain a map in his head as they went along. It wasn't the easiest task. The X-men, having similar endless hallways, tried to create a homey atmosphere in the lower levels to compensate for the lack of windows. Plants and lovely pieces of art adorned the walls, peppered with comfy benches for sitting. These were things that added change and therefore could be memorized in sequence. All that met Aiden's quickly cataloging eyes here were plain, unadorned cement walls with a number painted here and there as markers. It was as if no one lived here and yet there were plenty of men they ran into as they continued on, sentries always asking for those pesky code words.

Aiden didn't like this level much as he stumbled along with Zander propped up on his shoulder. This place might not have much in the way of decorations but it was littered in other ways – with ugly vibrations of aggression and misery a sensitive empath might feel. It was clear that this was some kind of detention level, clouds of misery hung in the air like the echoes of tortured screams that had gone on unnoticed and unavenged. People had been hurt here and probably would be again. Aiden selfishly hoped that whatever torture that had taken place here previously wasn't going to happen to himself as well. Pain was not something he tolerated well.

Aiden wasn't wrong about where they were headed. A few doors down they stopped in front of a large metal door that made all the unpleasant clicks and groans of super locks as it took a moment to finally open. The door opened into a long, deep room that contained holding cells on either side.

Zander balked at the sight of them, he couldn't help it. He disliked confinement no better than Aiden did and while he was clearly in no condition to do so, still found himself trying to calculate how they might fight their way out of this. It was impossible – there were too many men, the Siskans were both far too weak, and they still had the rest of their team to consider.

Zander's hesitation was met with an unfamiliar guard coming up close. The man's eyes were hard and mean as he snarled at the Punisher with a heavy Irish accent, "Keep moving! Wouldn't want to have to shock you again, boyo."

Zander grunted and got his heavy uncooperative legs moving. The only thing worse than being jailed would be to be shocked so heavily that he would be unable to take advantage of any opportunity that might come up later. He might be reckless, but he'd had most of the stupidity beaten out of him by Daken this morning already. Time now to rest up and plan.

The pair moved along as directed, quickly noting that two of the cells they passed were occupied by the rest of their team. Girls on one side, the boys on the other. None of them seemed conscious, but their shines were bright, they were all still alive. These cells had energy fields instead of bars, just like the train, but were much more roomy and had more comforts. Blankets had been stacked in the corners and each had a screened toilet area in the back. Sinks would provide water. They wouldn't have been placed in here if their captors didn't intend to keep them alive. Aiden took what hope he could in that.

Zander and Aiden's escorts paused in front of the next available cell and once it was opened, they were unceremoniously pushed inside. The Irish guard laughed as he set the locks and with plenty of fang, sneered, "Welcome to the Diamond."

For better or worse, they had arrived.

To be continued in Blood Ties.


End file.
